


The Sense of Death

by Quatschkatz



Category: Neverwhere - All Media Types, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Death, Magic, References to Suicide, Sherlock does not believe in this nonsense, Tea, Unusual talents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 100,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quatschkatz/pseuds/Quatschkatz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more than one reason that Molly Hooper is a good pathologist.  She has the ability to see death.  AU/crossover in which BBC Sherlock and Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere are happening in the same time and place.  Featuring!  Molly Hooper meets the Marquis de Carabas!  Just where did the Marquis get that egg anyway?   Jim has some secrets too.  AND:  Sherlock absolutely does not believe in any of this ridiculous nonsense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First of all,  
> 1\. Some of these characters/situations belong to men much more talented, wealthy and British than myself. This is only a labor of love.
> 
> 2\. I'm not British, and honestly, I didn't try very hard to write like I was. I was more interested in challenging myself to finish a story, so I apologize for the half-hearted attempt to sound British. I am well aware of this failing.

The dishes were done, work shirts ironed and garbage taken out. The baby had been fed, changed and was now peacefully napping. All the daily chores were done. It was as good a time as any to kill one’s self, Mary Ann Hooper reasoned. She didn’t want to be a nuisance, so she had taken care of as much housework as possible. She knew her death would be a terrible burden to her husband, but she saw no other way out, she had to escape. For as long as she could remember, she had been haunted by death. She didn’t know how to explain it, but death was everywhere she looked. Everyone had their own black pall of death. Like a dark mist seeping from their pores, peoples’ deaths surrounded them, but no one else could see it. Mary had tried to explain it, but had never succeeded. It was too strange and ridiculous, utterly unbelievable. The few people she tried to tell clearly thought she was insane. Eventually, she stopped trying. She was tired of receiving only worried looks when she told others what she could so plainly see.

  
Sometimes she could tell if a person was close to death. Occasionally, she could sense what would cause their death. The first time this happened was when she was young and still living in the orphanage. Sister Theresa was always one of Mary’s favorites. She was one of the younger nuns and smiled more than the others. One day, Mary realized that the dark fog that surrounded Sister Theresa was changing. There were other colors appearing and swirling in the mist. As days passed, Mary thought she could see shapes developing. Slowly, images began to form and eventually Mary could see a picture of Sister Theresa emerging from the mist. The nun was lying in what looked like a hospital bed, and then someone came and pulled a sheet over her head. Mary was terribly frightened by what she saw. She grew more frightened when she heard that Sister Theresa was going to have surgery to remove her tonsils. Mary went to her, crying, begging her not to go to the hospital. The nun was touched by her young charge’s concern. She assured Mary that the surgery was routine and nothing bad was likely to happen. Mary became hysterical. Sister Theresa was frightened and had to call for help to come take the girl away. Mary was taken to the medical ward of the orphanage and sedated. Two days later, when Mary awoke, she knew that her beloved Sister Theresa was dead before the other nuns told her.

  
Mary only tried a few more times to warn people when she sensed their impending death. Every time it ended badly. Mary was never successful in changing the outcome and others became more convinced that something was wrong with her. So she tried to suppress her sense of death, desperate to ignore the darkness that enveloped others. She failed at this too. When she was eighteen, she left the orphanage and sought employment. A local florist took pity on her and gave her a job in his shop. She learned to arrange flowers in a pleasing manner and was able to earn a living. One day, she decided to eat her lunch outside the shop, enjoying the spring breezes. A young man walked past her, then turned back and came and joined her on the bench. Mary was very nervous; growing up in an orphanage had not prepared her for meeting men. She blushed and stammered as he cheerfully made small talk. He introduced himself as Martin Hooper and told her he had just started to work at the local hospital. At the end of her lunch, she excused herself and returned to the shop. The next day, Martin was back, and asked to spend lunch with her again. She agreed and soon it became a regular date. Six months later he asked her to marry him and she said yes. They were married a month later and a beautiful baby girl was born just before their first anniversary.

  
Mary always hoped that she could leave her death sense behind, in the first happy months of being with Martin; she even believed it to be true. She almost convinced herself that it was a childish delusion, the result of being abandoned as an infant. She was still telling herself this right up until the moment before her baby was born. But as her daughter emerged, blinking and screaming, Mary could see that her precious baby was wrapped in the same blackness that surrounded everyone. It was then that Mary knew she would never be free of this horror. Mary tried to be a good mother. She loved her baby girl and delighted in watching her grow. But try as she might, death surrounded her child like everyone else. Mary became anxious, always searching the blackness for some hint that death was soon to befall her child. The stress took a heavy toll, and Mary began to have other problems. She started to see other things, fantastic, terrible creatures that should not exist. Mary knew she was losing her mind. The creatures started to whisper to her, calling to her and taunting her. The monsters told Mary that they would take her baby to join them in their strange underworld. Mary could never escape the dark mist of death or the evil whispers of the monsters. Finally Mary grew so tired; she decided that death was her only escape.

  
After ensuring all the day’s work was done, Mary prepared the pills and the wine. She walked through her small home one more time. She checked that everything was neat and was glad that it was so. Her last stop was in the nursery. Molly slept peacefully in her crib. Mary wondered if she wouldn’t be doing the baby a kindness by taking her along on this final journey. It would be easy enough to do. There were plenty of pills. Mary hated the thought that her baby might suffer as she had. She didn’t want anyone else to be plagued with this horrible sense of omnipresent death. It might be better if Molly didn’t have to live with the same horrors that her mother had suffered. Still, Mary knew that Martin could never survive the death of his wife and child. Perhaps Molly wouldn’t be burdened as she had been. Finally, Mary decided that she couldn’t kill her daughter without knowing if she would share her mother’s sense of death. Mary prayed that she hadn’t passed this dark gift along to her baby. She stroked Molly’s soft cheek one last time and said farewell. Mary walked to the kitchen, picked up the bottle of pills and then went to the living room. She took a seat, poured a glass of wine and began to swallow the pills. When her husband came home from work, he found his daughter crying in her crib and his wife’s lifeless body lying on the freshly vacuumed carpet.


	2. Chapter One

Nineteen was too old for proper teenage rebellion, but Molly had always been a little behind in her social development.  Molly was aware that she wasn’t even much of a rebel.  A few cigarettes a week and the occasional drunken Friday night out chasing boys might be shocking if she was fourteen, but as a university student, she was positively tame.  Still, it was all quite thrilling to her.  Molly’s childhood had been sheltered by her widower father.  His grief and worry had overshadowed Molly’s whole young life.  Molly knew at a young age that he depended on her, needed her to keep going.  Anyway, she never really was one for temper tantrums and sulks.

School was the other focus of her girlhood. She was naturally very curious and loved learning.  From the age of five, Molly was determined to become a doctor.  She knew it had been her father’s dream to become a doctor.  He had settled for working as an administrator, for vague reasons he never would explain to her.  So Molly’s teenage years had been spent studying and being a Very Good Girl.  Her teachers praised her for her hard work.  Elderly members of her church were fond of telling her what a help she was to her father.  And all the local children were downright infuriated when their parents sighed “why can’t you be more like that sweet Molly Hooper?” Molly was held up as an example of childhood perfection to adults everywhere.  She had few friends and had never been on a date.  And until she left home for university, she had believed herself to be quite content with her life.

University was a thrilling new experience.  Molly was terribly shy and had at first panicked about ever feeling comfortable there.  She had briefly thought about dropping out and running home to her father in the first few weeks.  Fortunately, she found a friend named Rebecca in her Chemistry class.  Rebecca was loud and funny and everything Molly wasn’t.  She was also terrible at anything remotely related to the sciences.  Rebecca had grand plans of becoming a famous writer, actress or possibly exotic dancer.  She had miserable study habits and confessed to Molly that she’d lost her virginity at age 15 with a lapsed priest.  Molly was dazzled by her new friend, she was so much more alive and fun that Molly ever dreamed of being.  Molly had offered to help her study after hearing Rebecca moan and wail after failing the first test.  Rebecca thanked her profusely and they actually had fun studying. Soon they hung out for more than just study sessions. It was baffling, but Rebecca seemed to truly like Molly.  Rebecca was charmed by how sweet and naïve Molly was.  She was also determined to help Molly have fun and make up for lost time. So began the great, delayed onset teenage rebellion of Molly Hooper.

Rebecca’s first field of attack was Molly’s incredibly dowdy wardrobe.  Left to her own devices, Molly chose the sort of clothes little girls would wear.  “Actually, Molly, I know quite a few little girls who wouldn’t be caught dead in this” crowed Rebecca as she dug through Molly’s clothing.  “Way too much pink, what’s with the kittens on this shirt, and oh my god, are all your bras white?”

“What’s wrong with white bras?” Molly asked.  She had only ever been bra shopping with her father, an experience both of them dreaded.  She tended to grab the first thing the elderly ladies in the stores recommended. 

Rebecca rolled her eyes in such an exaggerated way that Molly wondered if they would pop out.  “Oh lord, Molly, the boys don’t want to be reminded of their grannies when they get your top off!” she huffed.

A furious blush spread completely across Molly’s face.  She started to stutter, “B-boys! Getting my top off! I, um … no, just no.”

 “Molly, please tell me you’ve been with a boy…. Please tell me that you’re not that hopelessly innocent!” shrieked Rebecca.

Molly turned pinker still and turned away from her friend.  “Um, I never have, umm, been on a date or anything, I mean, they never asked….” 

“That’s it.  Get up.  Yes, right now, we’re going to my room.  You will wear my clothes and people will actually be able to see some skin, and you are going to touch a boy and no more of this fluffy kitten shit!” With this pronouncement, Rebecca took Molly firmly by the hand and led her out of her room, completely ignoring her feeble protests.

Rebecca’s clothing was strewn all about her room.  Lacy and rather racy knickers and bras were draped across the mirror.  Bottles of make-up and assorted hair products rolled across the floor as Rebecca dashed from side to side of the room.  Molly stood stock still, like a terrified prisoner, about to be executed.  She watched warily as Rebecca threw increasingly tiny articles of clothing at her.  Rebecca fussed about, changing this and that, till finally she was satisfied.  Then she began the assault on Molly’s face and hair.  Wands of mascara fluttered much too close to Molly’s eyes.  Alarming amounts of hair spray, enough to put a hole in the ozone layer, were sprayed.  Tubes of lipstick were studied and discarded till the perfect shade was found.  “Ta-Da! Now this is what us sexy bitches wear!  Don’t move, I gotta call a couple of people, there’s bound to be a party somewhere!” shouted a triumphant Rebecca. 

Molly, for her part, wasn’t sure if she was mortified or thrilled. She looked…. _sexy_. Her father would keel over dead of shock if he saw her, of that Molly was certain.  She went out with Rebecca that evening, drank a bit too much and was surprised to find herself kissing a football player from another university.  Rebecca found her and the mid-fielder snogging in a stairwell and dragged her home at 3:30 in the morning.  After that evening, Molly borrowed more of Rebecca’s clothes.  She had never felt so desirable and alive.  She stayed out late, drinking till she found enough courage.  She went on dates, mostly boys Rebecca had already rejected.  Molly began to feel quite daring.  She started to venture out more on her own, determined to prove that she was just as sexy and vibrant as her friend.

On one particular sunny Saturday afternoon, Molly was relaxing along the Embankment by the Thames, smoking a cigarette and wearing a low cut tank top that Rebecca insisted she try on.  She leaned back, blowing smoke and surreptitiously looking out the sides of her sunglasses to see if anyone else noticed her.  Molly knew her father would be horrified if he could see her now.  She still wasn’t completely sure if she liked that or not.  She did enjoy watching the other people walking along the Embankment.  Hiding behind her big black sunglasses (another of Rebecca’s castoffs) Molly felt brave enough to stare at others.  She liked watching the couples stroll past hand in hand; she’d imagine how they met.  Molly also noticed clothing and hairstyles, wondering what would look good on her. 

She had been studying a girl with half her head shaved when she first noticed the curious man in the long black coat.  He was strolling on top of the barrier along the river.  His skin was the same unending black as his coat, and he wore his hair in a long ponytail.  As he strutted along, Molly caught glimpses of his clothes underneath his coat.  He seemed to be wearing some sort of a historical costume, but the colors and textures were wrong.  Knee breeches weren’t meant to be made of electric neon blue velvet, were they? Molly sat up a bit when she first noticed him.  Here was someone with style and personality, two things Molly was certain she was desperately lacking.  He turned around, facing the river, surveying it like he owned it.  And with the casual elegance of someone who truly does not give a fuck, he dropped his pants and pissed over the side of the barrier.

Molly was shocked.  The whole of the Embankment was crawling with people, enjoying the rare sunshine.  Surely someone would cause a fuss.  There was a policeman walking along just down the way, he would certainly take a dim view of this display.  Molly watched, fascinated as the mysterious man finished his business, rearranged his clothes with a flourish and then continued sauntering along.  Not one other person seemed to notice or care.  Molly found herself standing and following the man along the Embankment.  He began to speed up slightly, and Molly quickened her pace.  Some small voice in the back of her mind insisted that this was a very stupid idea, but another louder voice (which sounded a lot like Rebecca) urged her on.  The man was nearly running now, dodging other walkers without disturbing them in the least.  Molly seemed to keep running into people who all shouted at her, but the man she followed was bounding along with cat-like grace.  Suddenly, the area ahead cleared of people, and the man in the black coat whirled around to face Molly. 

“I’ve never seen you before, so clearly I don’t owe you any favors and if you’re here on behalf of someone else, tell them to take care of their own damn business,” he spat at her.

Molly was petrified, she didn’t know why she had followed the stranger, and now the foolishness of her decision was staring her in the face.  She shrunk back and gulped. “Oh, um, I’m not from anyone, I mean  I was just…” she kept stammering as he narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to study her.

“Who are you?  What barony to you pay fealty to?” he asked.

“Barony?  Um I don’t know, I’m not sure I have any fealty…..” Molly could feel herself begin to ramble and squirm.  She wished Rebecca were here, she’d have some sharp retorts.

The Marquis de Carabas continued to study her while she wriggled like a fish on a hook.  It is well known that most denizens of London Below (though not all) possess some sort of gift, talent or even a Knack.  The Marquis’ gift was the ability to discern other’s gifts, sometimes even before the bearer knew about them.  As special talents go, it wasn’t an impressive one, not like invisibility or moving objects with just the power of the mind. But the Marquis had learned how to use his modest talent to great advantage.  By knowing other’s talents, he was able to discern how each individual could be best made to serve him.  He was a skilled manipulator and he prided himself on being able to learn other’s weaknesses as well as their strengths.  The Marquis had encountered many and varied talents during his long and wicked life.  Some talents were interesting and easily manipulated to benefit the Marquis.  Others required more of a stretch of the imagination.  He had met a woman once who could tell with just a glance, and with complete accuracy, what brand of dog food a dog had last eaten.  It had taken him a whole week to work out how to use her to his advantage.  But the young woman in front of him now was an entirely different story.  Her gift was one he had heard about, but never expected to witness for himself.  This young woman’s gift was death.

It was also rather obvious that she had no knowledge of her talent or of London Below.  Of course, to be able to see the Marquis, she had to be close enough to slipping through the cracks to the magic and madness of London Below. A little nudge was all it would take. This was truly a great prize thought the Marquis.  She had no knowledge of her gift, and thus hadn’t developed it.  Her affinity with death was currently quite weak, but with the right instruction and guidance, it could grow.  The Marquis was thrilled.  His last success had been the discovery of the cavern where the Velvets slept during the day, but that had been nearly a week ago and he was getting dreadfully bored.  Here was a remarkable new challenge.  It would take some extra research on his part, but if he was successful in grooming her talent, the payoff would be astounding.  He carefully planned what he would say next, “Ah, my apologies, I thought perhaps you were from another London” he said with a smile.

“Another London?”

“Oh yes, but that isn’t important right now.  What is important is that I have not properly introduced myself, I am the Marquis de Carabas, at your service” he finished with a bow and twirl of his magnificent coat.

“Oh, I um don’t think I’ve ever met a Marquis before” stammered Molly nervously.

“No, I can’t imagine you would have.  But, my dear, you must realize it is rude not to introduce yourself properly, why how else shall we become acquaintances?” Once more, he gave her his most dazzling smile.

“Molly, I mean, um, pleased to meet you, I’m Molly Hooper.” She bit her lip nervously, wishing that someone would come along to save her from herself.

The Marquis knew that Molly had been quiet and obedient her whole life.  He also knew that she dreamed of being much more. She wanted to be special, beautiful and desired. With the right approach it would be easy to bend her to his will. “Splendid, now, Miss Hooper, are you aware that you possess a rare and unique ability?  Why, I had heard that such a thing existed, but never thought I should be fortunate enough to encounter one with the talent” he purred.

“A talent?  I don’t think I have any, I mean I can’t sing or dance or anything like that.” Molly could feel herself start to blush in embarrassment.  The whole situation was too awful; Molly understood now why she had avoided most human contact her whole life. She felt torn in two. Some other part of her brain knew this conversation was dangerous, and shrieked at her to leave, but already she was drawn in by the mysterious Marquis.

“No, nothing so silly and worthless as singing and dancing.  You, Molly, possess something far greater and precious.  Please humor me and allow me to be indelicate for a moment.  Pray tell me, how is your mother’s health?” he smiled.  Molly paled.  The Marquis nearly licked his lips with delight.  He had heard that this gift of death was usually passed from mother to daughter, but at a great cost, especially if they lived Above.  Most that bore this sense of death were driven mad by it, and committed suicide. If Molly’s mother had been in London Below or some other such safe place, she would have been more protected and learned how to properly harness her gift.  Molly clearly had been born and raised above ground where magic and such gifts were children’s stories.  The Marquis was certain the odds were in his favor, and the girl’s mother was dead.  The color draining swiftly from her face told him he was right.

“My mother is dead” Molly said flatly.  “She died when I was just a baby.”

“Hmmm, tragic, but please forgive me if I am wrong, but it was not a natural death was it?” the Marquis asked. Now Molly began to feel her face flush anew.  She had lived with her mother’s death her whole life, it rarely affected her so.  But Molly was sure that the man in front of her was asking questions he already knew the answers to.  She felt extremely uneasy, and more than a little angry.

“Why do you ask?  It’s none of your business anyway, but she committed suicide.”

“My sympathies, but I suspected as much when I saw the gift you have, it is almost always passed from mother to daughter.  However, it is a hard burden to bear and many women with this gift are unprepared to manage the burden.  Especially those who are unaware of their own abilities.” The Marquis gave her another charming smile.  His whole being radiated false concern; he was the kindly teacher who would show her the true path of wisdom.  “I must tell you, Molly, that it is quite lucky we have met, for I may be able to help you learn about your gift.  You will need some help; it’s the only way to prevent yourself from going quite insane like your mother.”

Molly was truly at war with herself now.  She wanted to flee, cry, punch him and beg for more information all at the same time.  Finally, she whispered “I don’t believe you.”

“Allow me to ask another question, have you ever had a sense that someone was going to die soon?  Or had some other knowledge about a person’s death that you couldn’t explain otherwise?” the Marquis asked.

Molly’s first instinct was to laugh at this latest ridiculous notion.  But then she remembered what had happened when she was four years old.  Molly had attended a small childcare center at the hospital where her father worked.  Walking to and from the childcare area of the hospital, Molly and her father passed assorted doctors, nurses and patients.  Molly had noticed that some of the people she passed were going to die soon.  She wasn’t bothered by this, her own mother was dead. Molly was comfortable with the thought of death.  Her father had brought her up knowing about death and she accepted it as a natural thing like blue skies.  Everybody had their own death around them; it was nothing to be worried about.  One Monday morning, there was a minor commotion outside the childcare center.  Molly’s father went to talk to a small cluster of adults while Molly waited patiently on a bench.  She swung her legs back and forth while they talked and gestured. There was some more whispering and worried looks between the adults.  After a few minutes, Molly’s father returned and sat down next to her.  “Molly, dear, Miss Joan won’t be at school anymore” he began.

“Yes, I know.  She died yesterday evening” Molly said simply.

Her father looked shocked.  “Molly, how did you know that?  Were you listening while we were talking?”

“No, I knew yesterday she was going to be dead, like Mummy.  Miss Joan was hit by a car.  I don’t think she was looking properly Daddy” Molly looked up at her father.  He looked even more upset. “It’s alright Daddy, I promise I’ll always stop and look like you taught me.”  This did not seem to reassure her father.  Molly didn’t understand why he was so upset.  He took a deep breath and frowned again.  He glanced back at the knot of adults standing in front of the door.  He looked back down at Molly.  She tried to smile reassuringly.  He seemed to make up his mind.  He picked Molly up and turned around.  “We’re going home” was all he said.

Daddy spent a long time that day asking Molly about Miss Joan.  Molly was surprised to learn that he had been unable to see that her teacher was going to die.  Molly thought that everyone could see death.  Daddy kept insisting that she must have known about Miss Joan’s death some other way, maybe she had seen it on the news.  Molly knew she wasn’t supposed to contradict, but that was a lie and lies were bad too.  Finally, Daddy asked her to tell him more about how she knew Miss Joan was about to die.  Molly tried to explain that everyone had their own death, and that it was always with them.  “It changes Daddy, when it’s time to die.  Don’t you see it too?” she asked.

Daddy told her quite firmly, that it was impossible to see death.  People didn’t see when other people were about to die.  The next day Daddy took her to see a nice woman named Dr. Howard.  She told Molly it was okay to call her Susan, but Molly never could call her that. It wasn’t allowed to call adults by their first names. Dr. Howard asked Molly a lot of questions about her mother.  Molly tried to answer them all truthfully.  Yes, she wished she had a mummy who played with her like other children’s did.  No, she didn’t think it was very sad her mummy was dead, everyone died. Other times Dr. Howard and Molly played with toys and puppets, which was much better than answering boring questions.  Slowly, over the course of several years, Dr. Howard taught Molly that her notion of being able to “see” death was something that happened because she missed her mother.  Molly didn’t quite believe this, but she wanted to please Dr. Howard and her father, so she did her best to do what the doctor told her.  So Molly learned to ignore death and gradually she stopped noticing it.  In fact, she had made herself forget all about it, until the Marquis asked about it.

When Molly shook herself out of the memory, the Marquis was still smiling at her. Once again, Molly felt quite certain he knew the answer to his question before he even asked it.  Before she could collect herself enough to speak, he said “Molly, I can tell that you have an affinity with death.  You’ve always been able to sense it, haven’t you?”  Molly could only nod.  “As I mentioned, I’ve heard that such a gift existed, it’s really very rare.  I’ll have to do a bit of asking around, but I should be able to help you, that is if you would like some assistance in dealing with the matter.  All I ask is a small favor in return” smiled the Marquis.

Molly’s lips were dry; she swallowed and said “A favor? Like what sort of favor?”

“Oh that’s not important now, something small, just a bit of help at some time in the future.  You would like to know more wouldn’t you?  Just meet me right back here, the same time next Saturday.  If you don’t come I won’t mind, you know, no skin off my teeth, now really I must be going, lots of questions to ask, things to learn.”  With that, the Marquis turned and marched away.  Molly felt her mind swimming; she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady herself.  When she opened her eyes, the Marquis was gone.


	3. Chapter Two

The Marquis spent the next week tracking down and finding answers to his questions.  It wasn’t too hard to find what he wanted.  He knew the right sort of people to ask.  He had to be careful not to ask the same people too many questions.  The last thing he needed was for some other schemer to put two and two together and figure out his plans.  He spoke with several folks at the Floating Market and made a few other inquiries with other contacts.  Most had heard the same rumors and nonsense that he already knew.  But these initial inquires confirmed that he really needed to speak with Old Bailey, and better yet, no one had ever believed the stories that Old Bailey told.

The Marquis already knew that Old Bailey was surprisingly useful when it came to these sorts of matters.  Of course, you had to put up with bird shit and terrible jokes, but that was a small price to pay for such esoteric information.  Another advantage of dealing with Old Bailey was that his ambitions went only as far as his birds and rooftops.   De Carabas could be certain that Old Bailey wouldn’t try to outmaneuver him.  And, best of all, the Marquis de Carabas was still owed a favor from the old man.  After making the tiring climb to Old Bailey’s latest rooftop aerie, the Marquis de Carabas approached the barmy bird man.  “What do you know, Old Bailey, about the practice of hiding your life somewhere?” the Marquis asked. 

Old Bailey frowned and said “Where’d you heard of such a thing?  Can’t be done can it? I mean it’s the sort of a thing I heard about in a fairy tale the once.” He told the Marquis the fairy tale he remembered. 

“See, this fella, he was bad, you know, evil like.  And all the brave young lads went to have a go at killing him but no matter what he never died. Nope they’d poke and stab and light fires to him and such nonsense, but there was never a scratch, nope not a one.  And he was some sort of a king or emperor or some other of boss-thing, cause he can’t die.  So he needs a wife, cause what else does an unkillable king want? Right?  I coulda told ‘im, waste of time, women.  Trouble and misery is all they brings, but you can’t go telling a king such things, and not when he’s the sort that don’t die, even more full of himself then.”  He was really warming up to his tale now.  He paused and drew a deep breath before continuing.

  “Well it’s gotta be a princess, cause kings don’t marry just anyone, right. Anyways, I don’t know why, you think he’d have lots of time on his hands this king, but he decides to send some young fella to go find this princess, and of course, he don’t want the princess the next castle over, it’s got to be the one who’s trapped across the ocean at the end of the earth with dragons and suchlike.  So this young fella, he’s good looking of course, because they always are in the stories, it’s how you know he’s the hero.  So this fella he goes and braves all the different kinds of hell and finds the princess and on the ride back to the king, what do you think happens, well that what always does, I tell you, the princess and the young fellow fall in love cause neither of them has the sense god gave a pigeon.” Old Bailey attempted to change the subject to just how much sense a pigeon has and how it compares with other, nobler birds, but after an impatient gesture from the Marquis, he returned to the story.

“Right, right, the young ones, they’re in love.  So they thinks what a shame, gotta kill the king, but no one can do it, right, cause he’s unkillable.  Well somehow the girl, she knows the kings secret, which makes one wonder how she heard it in the first place and just how stupid this king was, cause he shoulda known not to send some handsome young’un to go pick up his girlie, but that’s what immortality will get you, carelessness.  Right, well the princess she tells this handsome boy that you can’t kill the king cause his life’s been hidden away, but it’s on the other side of this ocean, in a big tree which grows around a chest that has a duck inside that has an egg in it.  There’s a bunch of other horrible killing stuff to stop you from getting to this egg, cause if you cracks it, so cracks the king, right?  I can’t remember all the nasty monsters and such, the usual bad things. And the boy, cause he’s a good looking hero type, he goes and fights all the nastiness and breaks the eggs and king dies and now the young lovers can be married, which don’t sound like no such prize if you asks me.”  Old Bailey heaved a sigh after finishing his rambling tale, and then turned to stir a foul smelling mess in his stewpot.

The Marquis de Carabas had been intensely bored during this ridiculous story, but knew he was close now.  “I had heard, that there was a way to create such an egg.  That one could hide their life inside so in the event something unfortunate befell them, the egg could be broken and one’s life restored” said the Marquis.  Old Bailey frowned and picked his nose contemplatively.

“Yeah, I heard somewhat similar, but that requires a Deathseer and you just don’t find one of them at every Market now do you?  I heard about one, not so long ago, lived under Dublin, a man too, which is unusual, mostly girls that bear that curse.  Course, the girls are usually mad then, but they all seem to be anyways, right?  And the male Deathseers is trouble too, cause they’re right bastards, killers usually, them what does it for fun.  The girls is just crazy, but they see how you die and if they ain’t too nutters sometimes they can heal. But it’s the Deathseers that can hide a life away.  Course, they gotta be pretty powerful, takes a fair bit out of a body, hiding someone’s life away.  Matter of fact, Deathseers can’t actually hide their own lives away, seems sort of a mess, but maybe they wouldn’t want to do something so odd.  Not afraid of death them Deathseers.”  Old Bailey stopped to cough then, hacking something up, which he delicately spit into a nearby jar, making the Marquis shudder with disgust.  After a quick wipe of the mouth, the old man continued on.

“Anyhow, if you want to do something daft as hide your life away, first you need some sort of a box, precious metal’s best, silver’s always good, but not iron, that’s always a bad thing for supernatural dealings.  Takes some gravedirt, the good kind, gotta have bones and bits left in it, proper decayed stuff, not just whatever you can skim off the tops.  Needs a bit of the Deathseer’s blood, not a whole lot, thimbleful or so, don’t think there’s any exact measurement. Well, then the person what wants the egg, adds their blood to the dirt, gotta be about enough dirt to fill an egg, needs to be more blood, enough to make all the dirt clump together like, mush it together and make it sorta egg shaped.  Well the Deathseer holds the bloody lump in their hands and the other one, him who wants to hide his life, he puts his hands over top and the Deathseer does something, whatever it is they do and if it’s done on a new moon in the autumn they should end up with an egg with the person’s life inside, or more likely than not, a bloody mess, right?” Old Bailey broke out in a choking sort of laugh at this little joke, but upon seeing the Marquis unimpressed face, he continued.

 “Okay, right, well it’s a dark sort of a deal, no matter what. Can use it if you die, just break the egg and your life’ll come back, but you still gotta figure a way to fix the body you died in.  Just brings your life back, don’t fix whatever it was that killed you, awful bit of trouble if you lost your head, right? And of course it’s all fun and games till you go about the thing and maybe it’s not the picnic you think coming back from the dead, they never tell you how that bit goes, right?  And if you’re dead, who’s gonna go cracking the egg for you?  Need someone to trust, and they gotta take the damn thing where your body’s at, could be already dug down deep.  Better hope the one holding the egg gets to your body before the worms. Or the flies, both’s trouble.”  Old Bailey took another deep breath as he finished this latest monologue.  He wiped his face with a dirty rag and grinned at the Marquis.  “Now me, I stays away from such dark and damp underground things.  Better to stay up here with the birds, more information to find and share with the light” Old Bailey smiled at the thought of his rooftop and birds.

“Hmm, yes, well really, you’ve been most helpful.  Here, take this, I feel it should be an adequate recompense for this fascinating bit of folklore” said the Marquis.  From deep within his coat, he drew out a handful of Tube maps, a nearly full bag of birdseed and ½ of an early printing of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species.  He presented these to Old Bailey and spun around to go.  As he descended the side of the building, he heard Old Bailey call after him, “Don’t you go thinking you outta try such foolishness, hard to find a Deathseer anyway, and you’re like to end up in a bad way putting life in a duck’s egg, damn fool birds they are.”

The Marquis de Carrabas just smiled to himself.  Two independent sources had confirmed the rumors he had heard, and he was confident he knew what to do now.  All that remained was seeing to his innocent Deathseer and testing the extent of her abilities.   He would build up her trust and curiosity.  Just a little careful manipulation and he would possess a thing of extreme power.  But why stop there?  Better yet, advertise her ability to a select sort of London Below society, the sort with power and wealth and the need to store their life elsewhere.  Offering such a service would indeed be a lucrative new line of work.  The Marquis was so pleased with himself he actually whistled a bit as he climbed back down to street level.  It was Thursday, now just to wait for the girl to return.  He was confident she would.  She was scared, but her hunger to be special was obvious.  The Marquis would show her just how truly special she was.

Molly spent the entire week desperately trying to convince herself the encounter along the Embankment had been some sort of dream, possibly the result of being hung-over.  The fact that she started to sense death again didn’t help these attempts.  A dark mist seemed to flow from every person she met.  This was not the sort of unique, notice-me talent Molly had hoped for.  She agonized about whether or not she should try and tell Rebecca.  On the one hand, meeting a possibly deranged individual with secret knowledge of a mysterious death talent did sound like something Rebecca would enjoy.  On the other, Molly wasn’t sure Rebecca would believe her.  Molly was fairly certain that if she tried to explain things to her friend, Rebecca would run away to find less crazy friends, likely ones with a better wardrobe.  Besides, the Marquis didn’t seem like the type who would welcome company.  After a week of agonizing over her choices, Molly decided to be brave and ventured toward where she had last seen the stranger who called himself a Marquis. 

The weather had changed for the worse, there was a light drizzle and a chill in the air.  There were few people taking leisurely walks along the Embankment today.  Molly walked toward where she had spoken with the Marquis.  She almost hoped that he wouldn’t be there, and she could go back to her tiny room and curl up in bed with a book.  The drizzling rain was blowing and soaking her shoulders. She was certain that her nose was red and likely to start dripping soon.  Up ahead, she saw a dark figure huddled underneath a lamppost.  As she drew closer, she could see that it was the Marquis de Carabas, once again looking as though he didn’t have a care in the world.  He was clearly unimpressed by the rain, spinning silver coins back and forth between his hands.  He waited till Molly reached him, and then theatrically spun the coins away into some secret pocket before addressing her.

“Well, how marvelous to see you again my dear.  Come along, let’s find someplace a bit drier, we have much to discuss.” He smiled again and beckoned for her to follow him.  Molly was frozen for a second, unsure of herself again, when he reached back, lightly took her elbow and began to steer her along.  He walked briskly away from the Embankment, darting toward smaller streets and alleys. Soon, they had taken so many twists and turns that Molly wasn’t sure where they were.  She doubted that she could find her way back to the Embankment, or any other part of London she recognized. Alarm bells began to ring in Molly’s mind and she was about to try and run away when he steered her into a small café.

 Molly couldn’t tell the name of the café, it was in a foreign language she couldn’t place.  It was small, but well lit, with random chairs and tables haphazardly crowding against each other. Mismatched glasses and plates were stacked in a tall cabinet along the back wall.  A little old woman sat on a high stool behind the counter.  She looked up as the pair entered.  The old woman smiled a toothless grin and waved at the Marquis as he entered.  Molly felt a little better now.  The Marquis guided them toward a pair of armchairs tucked in a corner.  Molly sat just as the old woman hopped down from the stool and began bustling behind the counter. The old woman was truly tiny; standing up her chin just reached the counter.  She placed a slightly battered teapot on a tray, along with some chipped mugs, a handful of teabags and several nondescript pastries.  She beamed once more at the Marquis as she set the tray down on the table in front of him and Molly.  The old woman said something in another language to the Marquis, and he smiled back at her and kissed the back of her hand.  This made the old woman giggle like a schoolgirl as she returned to the counter.

Molly watched the whole exchange silently, once more wondering what the true nature of the Marquis was.  He turned back to the table and shuffled through the teabags.  He grimaced at the choices, but finally selected a bag of Darjeeling before gesturing at Molly to do the same.  She was relieved to see Earl Grey, her favorite, and set about preparing her mug. 

“Cream? Sugar?” inquired the Marquis.

“No thank you, I like it black” she said.

The Marquis smiled at this as he languidly stirred cream and sugar into his mug.  Molly noticed that he always moved in a smooth, deliberate fashion, really rather like a big cat.  He took a sip from his mug and then began to speak. “Now Molly, my dear, is this not a far better place to sit and discuss?  You needn’t be so worried about me, I’m not about to drag you off to my villainous lair and perform unspeakable acts upon you.”  Molly felt herself blush and giggled nervously.  He continued, “In all honesty, I can’t claim to be a very good person, but I give you my word as a liar that no harm shall befall you when we are together.  Now, I promised to tell you more about your gift and so I shall.”

The rain began to fall harder and beat a soft pattern on the café windows.  Molly sipped her tea and nibbled on the pastry.  She really had no idea what sort of pastry it was, but it was delicious.  The Marquis wove a tale about London Below.  He explained that it was a place for people, things and time that fell through the cracks.  Most of the normal residents of London were unable to see those who lived Below.  Only those who were about to slip from London Above or had some other powerful gift could see those who lived Below.  Molly started a bit when she realized that the old woman had seen the Marquis.  “Is she part of London Below?” Molly asked.

“No, well not really.  Typically, you can only belong to one or the other.  There are some who live a sort of half-life between the two, but it’s usually a miserable existence.  The proprietress of this café manages to make it work by operating this café which serves anyone who can find it.  Some residents of the Underside do enjoy making use of the many fine establishments and services the above world has to offer.  Madam Illeyna comes from a long line of enterprising witches, and when she moved here she found a niche waiting to be filled” said the Marquis.

The Marquis explained that Molly’s gift was why she had been able to see him.  “In all truth Molly, the gift you have been given will be a difficult one to deal with here in London.  You are a Deathseer and as your power grows, it may drive you mad.  Better you come and join me in London Below where it’s easier to deal with such things.”

Molly recoiled at the notion.  She started to stand up, but the Marquis quickly laid a hand on her arm and spoke. “It’s just a suggestion, something you may wish to consider in the future, Molly.  Relax, you’re alarming the other customers.”

Molly looked across the café.  A man and woman had entered sometime while the Marquis had been speaking.  They were looking at her strangely, then quickly looked back down at their food.

“What about them?  Are they part of London Below?” Molly asked.

The Marquis sniffed, “Certainly not.”

“Can they see you?”

“No.”

“So they think I am sitting here talking to myself?”

The Marquis smirked again, “Yes, now sit back down and allow me to continue.”  Molly sat back down and did her best not to look crazy.

“When you look at people, you see their death, correct?” asked the Marquis.  Molly nodded.  He looked genuinely curious, “What does it look like?” he asked.

Molly took a deep breath and whispered, “Um, sort of like black smoke, I guess.  Everyone has one, kind of like a ghost following them around.”

“Can you tell when someone is about to die?” the Marquis asked next.

“Well, when I was just four, I thought I knew how my teacher was going to die.  She died, but when my dad told me, I already knew she was dead and that she was hit by a car.  Actually my dad sent me to a therapist for years; she convinced me I was making it all up.  I forgot all about it till you mentioned it last week.  I started seeing the dark mist again, but I’m not sure how I knew people were about to die.”

The Marquis leaned back and thought for a moment.  He finished his pastry and brushed the crumbs away before speaking again.  “Look closely at the blackness Molly; it is my understanding that Deathseers usually can see images of imminent death around the soon to be deceased.  Perhaps if you focus on that, the skill will return.”  He looked out the window.  The rain had stopped.  He stood up quickly and took Molly’s hand.  “Come along, I will take you back to the Embankment now.  Think about what I have told you, concentrate on your sense of death, this may help you become stronger.”

 He threw some silver coins on the table and pulled her back out onto the street.  They walked back in silence.  Now that the rain had stopped, things seemed to look more familiar to Molly.  She felt more at ease with the Marquis, though she still knew all of this was a bad idea.  Back at the Embankment, he told her to come back again, in another week’s time if she wished to learn more.


	4. Chapter Three

Every time she went to meet the Marquis, Molly felt like she was making a terrible, possibly deadly mistake.  And every time when they parted, she swore she would never go back.  But week after week, she returned to find him.  He would never speak much about himself.  The few times he did, he reminded her he was a liar and scoundrel.  Uneasy though she was, Molly had to admit; he never harmed her, nor put her in obviously dangerous situations.  Most times they would walk and he would describe some aspect of life in London Below. 

Molly was most curious about the Floating Markets.  He told her that they were safe places, protected by a centuries long truce.  He also mentioned that many of them took place in areas that physically were part of London Above.  The Floating Markets were full of people in all shapes, sizes and colors.  Everything was done by barter.  At the Floating Market you could find such things as nightmares, teeth-pullers and other assorted bits and bobs.   Molly was fascinated and wanted to go see one.  But the Marquis warned that to do so, she would have to leave her current life and join London Below permanently.  “I thought that was your plan, you told me I should do so,” Molly teased.

The Marquis looked more serious that Molly had ever imagined. “No, I would never bring someone underneath without their permission.  Unless they were dying, I might do it then without having a chat first, but as I’ve mentioned, I’m a well-known monster, and unlikely to save some poor dying soul” he told her.  Strangely, this made Molly feel better.  She wasn’t sure if the Marquis was truly as bad a man as he claimed to be, but she did trust him with keeping her safe and now knew he wouldn’t lead her to London Below without her permission. 

Other times when they met, he would talk more about Deathseers and their abilities. The Marquis told her how they were able to see a person’s death, and that occasionally they had the ability to heal. He encouraged Molly to practice at being a Deathseer.  Molly had noticed that if she focused on her death sense, it grew stronger.  At first she had been pleased with her enhanced ability, but it was becoming more of a problem.  She noticed that within the dark mists, she could sometimes see images.  It wasn’t long before she realized that the images she saw were of how the person would die.  It was unnerving to purchase textbooks while watching the clerk overdose on drugs in an alley.  The Marquis had already warned her that attempts to change people’s deaths were largely futile.  Molly worked at trying to control her death sense.  At first, it was always there.  It took long hours of practice, but eventually Molly was able to turn her sense of death off and on at will.  This truly impressed the Marquis; gaining such control over such a notoriously difficult talent wasn’t easy.

Molly was exhausted.  Her grades had begun to slip, and so had her friendship with Rebecca.  Molly was busy nearly every Saturday.  She was also less and less interested in Friday nights at the pub or long study sessions. Rebecca would call and plead for Molly to come and help her study or just do something, anything.  Every time Molly would come up with a stupid excuse why she couldn’t help or go out.  Eventually the phone calls dwindled and stopped.   Molly had felt conflicted at first, but now her work with the Marquis was too important, too special.  Tests and friends were too mundane for her now.  Throughout the whole summer, she kept up with her meetings with the Marquis and little else.  They didn’t meet every week anymore, but Molly was still busy, testing the limits of her abilities and forcing herself to exert more control over them. 

She did still pursue one scholarly endeavor. Molly interned at the morgue that summer.  She was fascinated to see how her ability could be used with the bodies that came in.  She learned that if she touched a dead body, and concentrated, she could sometimes get a glimpse of the last moments of the person’s life.  This was extremely difficult to do; the first time she did it successfully she passed out cold for 10 minutes.  The whole staff at the morgue teased her, saying she was clearly too delicate to work there.  Molly tried to protest that she had fainted because she was exhausted, but no one believed her.  So she stopped trying to use her death sense on corpses.  It required too much energy to do often, but still, it was another facet of her sense of death.  The Marquis was always delighted to hear about how her talent was growing.  Secretly, he was astonished, Molly was growing much more powerful than he had first imagined.  He could barely contain his glee when she breathlessly described her latest experiments.  He began working on gathering the ingredients to hide his life away.

It is a fact that the Marquis hated doing any kind of dirty work.  It wasn’t his style at all.  He preferred to bribe others to do physical labor for him.  But, he knew, when dealing with magic, effort was important.  Much as he loathed the thought of it, he would have to dig up his own damn grave dirt, or risk failure.  He spent a few nights scouting out likely cemeteries.  A modern one, with cement burial vaults wouldn’t do at all; he needed something old, where the bodies had been allowed to truly return to the dust from whence they came.  Unfortunately, many of the older cemeteries were considered historically important, and an outlandishly dressed man digging up a grave was sure to be noticed, even if he was from London Below. In truth, the notion of physical labor was stopping him more than anything else. The thought of ruining his clothes or, worse yet, his delicate hands was abhorrent.  There had to be a way to get what he wanted without having to waste an evening knee deep in mud and muck.

The Marquis de Carabas was getting rather frustrated when he had a lucky find.  A drab post-Blitz building was being torn down.  After the building was leveled, an excavation for a deeper basement with a car park was begun.  The excavation came to a screeching halt when the heavy machinery began turning up large slabs of masonry and the occasional skull.  A small, long forgotten church had once occupied the same spot.  Centuries of newer construction had piled up and buried the remains of the church.  The recent digging had disturbed the final resting place of the church’s long ago membership. 

The Marquis had many sources of information, and he learned about the discovery before even the news media or archaeologists.  As soon as he was informed, he ran to site. Finally, the perfect solution to his nagging problem, thought the Marquis.  He took a quick stroll around the site.  It was mere moments before he found a sizeable portion of skull.   He picked it up and scooped some of the mud out of it.  Just in case, he scouted around till he found a chunk of coffin lid.  He scraped some mud off both sides, being sure to include any bone fragments he saw.  Carefully, he packed his grave dirt in a plastic bag he had plucked from a trash can.  He then brushed as much mud as possible off his magnificent black coat and strutted away with his hands in his pockets.

Once he had procured proper grave dirt, it was nothing at all to find a metal box.  The Marquis, being a choosy sort, took his time, considering all his options before making a final decision.  He reasoned that one should at the very least, try to choose an aesthetically pleasing receptacle to hold their life.  After visiting several junk shops, two museums and an art gallery, he found the perfect box in a dusty antique store.  It was silver with a velvet lining, perfect to protect and cushion the egg that he would hide his life away inside.  Next he checked the calendar for moon phases.  It was already September.  The Marquis decided to wait till October; he was in no particular hurry.  Better to make sure it was definitely autumn, he had a sense he wouldn’t get many chances to finish this scheme.  At his next meeting with Molly, the Marquis hinted that he had learned of something else a Deathseer could do, something truly extraordinary.  Molly was immediately hooked, just as he knew she would be. 

“It involves a ritual, something that must be done on the night of a new moon.  If the ritual is done properly, the Deathseer should create something that would help the person that asks for the Deathseer’s help.  Something that would protect that individual’s life.  I know what is needed to complete the ritual, it’s easy enough, the Deathseer adds a bit of their blood to some dirt, the other person has to add some as well.  Then the Deathseer holds the dirt, and the other person holds the Deathseer’s hands while the Deathseer concentrates their powers on the dirt.  Simple, really.  If it works, the Deathseer will create an object of great power that will keep death from the other person.  What do you think Molly?  Only a Deathseer of great power could manage it, could you do it? Are you strong enough?” the Marquis asked.

Molly’s power had increased and she was becoming rather vain about her abilities.  She no longer even heard the little voices that told her this was all a terrible idea.  She was offended that the Marquis would even hint that she wasn’t strong enough to successfully carry out the ritual.  She glared at him and said “Of course I’m strong enough!  It hardly sounds difficult, just hold some dirt and concentrate.  When can we try it?”

The Marquis couldn’t believe how easy it had been to manipulate her.  He almost felt bad, but was too greedy to give a damn.  “It just so happens, that the next new moon is in four days, Sunday night.  Are you really willing to try such a thing?  I won’t mind if you’re too frightened.”

Molly bristled again, hadn’t she shown that she wasn’t a scared little girl?  She drew herself up and haughtily replied “When and where shall I meet you?”

“On the Embankment, where we first met, 9:00 PM. I’ll bring all the necessary materials I look forward to seeing you” answered the Marquis.  He smiled once more and disappeared in the crowds.

The night of October’s new moon was calm and clear.  The temperature had dropped and Molly wore a fuzzy pink sweater and hat when she went to meet the Marquis.  As always, he was already there waiting when she arrived.  And true to form, he appeared quite bored, as though he had far better places to be and much more interesting people to see.  Molly began to doubt herself.  She bit her lower lip and thought about going home.  But before she made herself too nervous, the Marquis graced her with one of his most winning smiles and reached out his hand to her.

“Molly, I’m delighted to see you.  Now, you aren’t afraid of blood at all, are you?” He brandished a small penknife with his other hand.

Molly rolled her eyes, a trick she had learned well from Rebecca.  “Please. You know I’m studying to be a doctor, I spent the whole summer in the morgue.   Blood doesn’t bother me at all.  You told me how this ritual goes, let’s get on with it.” Molly could hear the slight tremor in her voice; she hoped the Marquis didn’t notice how anxious she really was. 

“Wonderful, now let us come just down here a ways,” he said.

The Marquis led her to the barrier next to the Thames.  He jumped on top it and then climbed down the other side.  Molly couldn’t see the other side in the dark, but the Marquis took her hand and helped her down.  They were standing on a small rocky ledge that gave way to the mud flats along the river.  The Marquis removed his coat, and like a bullfighter, spun it around before laying it on the ground and gesturing to Molly to sit.  Molly noticed he had a plastic bag.  He took out a candle stub and lit it, setting the candle down next to his coat.  Then he joined Molly in sitting on his coat.    

He took a small silver box out of the bag.  He then gestured wordlessly for her hand and she gave it to him.  He raised the penknife above her hand, and then looked to her for permission.  Molly nodded.  He cut into the pad of her thumb and swiftly turned her hand over the open bag.  Molly watched as blood dripped from her thumb.  As her eyes grew used to the dark, she could see the dirt heaped in the bag.  After a few moments, the Marquis took a dainty handkerchief from some hidden pocket and wrapped it around her cut.  Molly looked on as he took the pen knife and sliced across his wrist.

Blood flowed from his wrist.  The Marquis watched dispassionately as the blood mixed with the dirt.  He poked the dirt with a finger a few times.  Finally he was satisfied.  He took the handkerchief back from Molly.  He held it out to her and indicated she should tie it over the gash in his wrist.  Molly was slightly more worried now.  His cut looked a bit too large to her, like it might need stiches.  Before she could voice her concern, he took her hands and plunged then into the dirt.  Molly gasped as she touched it.  The dirt was closer to mud now, with both of their blood mixed in.  Without thinking, she began to knead the dirt and blood together.  It was cold and smelled musty and ancient.  As the dirt passed through her fingers, she found herself thinking of churches and plagues, fires and prayers.  The Marquis was helping, guiding her hands.  She squeezed and molded the dirt into a rough ball.  Now it felt warmer in her hands.  She thought she heard faint voices, almost as if a Shakespearean play was being performed on the other side of the river.  She looked at the Marquis and he nodded.  He whispered to her, “Hold the ball of dirt in your hands.  When I place my hands over yours, concentrate all your power, all your death sense on the dirt, don’t let go.”  She nodded once more.  His dark hands covered hers and she closed her eyes.

At first, there was nothing, but then the voices grew louder.  There were screams and laughs and bits of song.  A gust of wind sprang up and the voices became even louder. The wind grew stronger.  Molly was soon in the center of a swirling vortex and wind and sound.  She tried to scream, but felt the air ripped from her lungs.  The lump of dirt within her hands became very hot, and she could see glimpses of light between her fingers.  Up until this point, everything had been a game, but now Molly was truly terrified.  The voices jabbered on, and she could nearly see figures reaching out from the wind.  She tried to look at the Marquis, but was nearly blinded by a sudden red light that shot from his mouth.  When she closed her eyes she had visions of a small, dark child running and laughing.  She knew that she was seeing some memory, some small slice of life of the Marquis.  The wind grew stronger still and the voices were deafening.  Just when Molly thought she would pass out, unable to breathe, everything stopped. The wind disappeared as quickly as it had come and the only sound was Molly gasping for breath. 

As soon as she felt air returning to her body, Molly jumped back, tripping over the rocks and falling back to the ground.  She gulped in deep breaths.  Then she looked down at her hands.  She held an egg.  It glowed faintly red, and then the light pulsed twice and faded completely.  The egg was a dark bluish color and covered with brown spots.  The Marquis leapt to his feet and strode over to her.  His mouth was open in shock and he reached his hands out for the egg.  Molly became angry and pulled away from him.  She scrambled to her feet and wheezed “What the hell just happened?”

The Marquis de Carabas looked at her wide-eyed for a moment more.  He collected himself quickly and said, “We were successful, you did it Molly.”  Then he grabbed her shoulders and kissed her firmly on the lips.  Molly was too shocked to react and stood there like an idiot while he stroked her hair.

“Molly, my sweet girl, you did it.” The Marquis smiled at her and then stepped back, hands on his hips.  He began talking rapidly, more to himself than Molly, “I thought it might work, but I don’t think I really believed it, but this, THIS Molly!  This is better than I could have dreamed.” He grinned bigger than Molly had ever seen. Once more he reached his hands out for the egg.  Molly stepped back again, holding the egg far back from him. 

“What the hell is this?  Tell me right now or I’ll throw it in the damn river” she rasped.

The Marquis shrank back, adopting a more neutral posture.  “Please Molly, don’t do anything rash.  I told you, we created something that will help keep me safe” he begged.

Molly shook her head. “I don’t believe you, tell me the truth, now, or I’ll break it” she whispered.

The Marquis eyes grew wide with fear, “Please, just wait, listen, I promise, I’ll tell you, just don’t break it.”  He sighed and said “The egg now holds my life.  If I die, the egg can be used to bring me back to life.  That’s the truth Molly, I can’t hurt anyone with it.  They’re very rare, no one in London Below has heard of a Deathseer here in over one hundred and fifty years.”

Molly looked at the egg with revulsion.  “Oh god, you’re right, your death is different. I can hardly see it anymore” she whispered.  She stretched her hands out to the Marquis.  “Take it, it’s horrible” She shuddered as he grabbed it.  Molly stood there, shaking slightly as he quickly picked up the silver box.  He carefully laid the egg inside and then picked up his coat.  He brushed it off slightly before putting it back on.  The silver box disappeared into some inner pocket.  Once more, he smiled at Molly and offered her his hand.  She jumped away from him, shaking her head.

“Molly, don’t be frightened.” He stepped closer and brushed her hair away from her face.  Molly looked back up at him and he cupped her face in his strong, dark hands.  He kissed her again, a sweet loving kiss. “You really are amazing Molly.  Come with me to London Below, you’ll be happy there, I promise, together we will be so powerful, come with me, you’ll love it, no one has ever seen power like yours” he murmured.

Molly nearly swooned.  She realized that she had never been properly kissed before.  She stepped back and shook her head. “You want me to be your helper then, do this for more people” she said.  Molly shuddered again, the memory of the voices in the wind far too fresh.  “I won’t do it; it’s terrible, if I knew what it was like I wouldn’t have done it for you.”  Molly began to cry, tears mixing with the streaks of mud on her face. 

The Marquis frowned once again and began to pace. “Don’t be silly.  I told you, this gift of yours is dangerous, more so if you stay in London Above.  You’ll go completely mad and end up like your mother, dead by your own hand.  Stay with me in London Below and I can protect you. You won’t have to make another egg, better I keep this secret to myself anyway” There was a desperate, hungry look in his eyes.  He beckoned once more for her to come with him.

Molly backed away from him, standing nearly at the wall of the Embankment.  “No, I can’t leave my father; I promised him I’ll become a doctor.  He needs me. I can’t.” She sobbed once at the thought of leaving her father.  He would be crushed if she disappeared.

With a huff, the Marquis turned and marched up to Molly.  He glared at her for a few moments, standing right in front of her.  “Fine, run along then, back to Daddy, he won’t keep you safe.  Go along then, I told you what you wanted to know and you’ve returned the favor.  Our transaction is finished then.  I won’t be bothering you ever again” he hissed. 

He began striding away when she called out, “Wait, it’s not fair.”

He whirled around with a shocked look on his face.  “What! Not fair?  Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not!  You told me some stories; I helped you hide your life away.  It’s not an even exchange.”

“Hmph! I offered you everything, and you’ve thrown it back at me.  Go home little girl. Try and forget all about the magic and darkness back in the safety of Daddy’s arms!”

He tried to leave again, but Molly grabbed his arm.  “Wait!” she said.  He turned once more and folded his arms over his chest.  Molly took a deep breath, “I have an idea.  What if someday, sometime in the future I do want to come to London Below.  Would you help me then?” she asked.

He seemed to consider it for a moment.  He sighed.  “You really are becoming quite irritating.  You think I’ll just come like a dog when you decide it’s convenient for you?”

She looked at him and said quietly “You owe me.  You offered to take me; I just want to choose when.”

“Fine” he huffed.  He reached into a hidden pocket and drew out two small copper coins and the pocketknife.  He stabbed his thumb and squeezed several drops of blood on the tail side of each coin.  He then took Molly’s cut thumb and squeezed the cut till some blood welled out.  He took one coin and rubbed it the heads side in her blood.  This coin he returned to his pockets. He held the other out to her. He rolled his eyes and sighed “When you’re quite ready, just come back here.  Put a few drops of your blood on it, and throw it in the river.  Give me at least an hour or so, and I’ll show up, ready and willing to escort her highness to her underground kingdom.  Of course, I won’t be able to come should I have gone visiting elsewhere or if I’m dead.”

Molly put the coin in a pocket. She looked back at the Marquis and said “I won’t worry about you being dead, as long as you’re not careless with that egg I just gave you.”  She tried to wipe her face on the sleeve of her sweater.

He actually smiled at this.  He took her hand and presented her with a graceful bow and quick kiss on the back of her hand.  “I shall endeavor to take good care of it.  Farewell Molly” he said as he walked toward the wall of the Embankment.  There was a brief flash of light, and the Marquis de Carabas was gone.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not my property, all I got/will get is the satisfaction of writing.
> 
> Enter Sherlock.

That night, Molly ran back to her tiny student room.  She sobbed the whole way there, choking on tears and spit.  Her whole body shook as she cried.  As soon as she returned, she took a long, hot shower.  Specks of bloody dirt swirled down the drain.  She scrubbed her whole body twice.  When she was done, she was calm once more.  She slipped into her robe, and then picked up her dirty clothes, taking the Marquis’s coin from her pocket.  She stared at it for a moment, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to throw it away.  After thinking it over, she walked over to her jewelry box.  Her father had given it to her when she was a little girl.  When the lid was opened, a small ballerina sprung up, slowly turning as twinkly music played.  Underneath the ballerina was a secret space that Molly had used to hide tiny girlhood treasures.  Molly tucked the coin in the space.  It was a bad idea to save it, but perhaps in the future it would serve as a reminder of just how foolish she had been. 

She went to bed and slept through awful dreams of rushing wind and death.  The dreams were dark, but she did not remember them in the morning. She woke and dressed, like every other day, as though she had never been a participant in a bizarre blood ritual.  By breakfast, she had made an important decision.  The whole affair with the Marquis de Carabas had been a dreadful mistake.  She should have stopped it all sooner, but she wouldn’t make such foolish choices again.  Molly was determined to devote herself to study once more.  It had worked for her whole life; it would work for her again.  It was too late to salvage her friendship with Rebecca.  Rebecca had clearly moved on to newer and more exciting friends.  Molly had never been any good at friends anyway.  She’d been even worse at dating.  Things would be much better this way.  And they were.

Molly threw herself back into schoolwork with a fury. Her experiments with her talent had taken a serious toll on her grades.  She fixated on getting the top scores in all her classes.  She ignored most of her classmates.  Concentrating on her studies also helped her submerge her sense of death again.  It was impossible to eradicate fully, but it was manageable now.  She barely noticed it anymore.   Strangely enough, the time with the Marquis had reinforced one thing.  She was completely comfortable around death.  Corpses didn’t bother her in the least.  Living, breathing people made her nervous and stammering.  But in the quiet of the morgue, she was much more relaxed.  She had never really decided what sort of doctor she wanted to be, a pathologist seemed the perfect choice.  It would require even more studying and devotion to become a pathologist and that also suited her quite well.

The years of studying paid off.  Molly became a pathologist in record speed.  Her father was tremendously proud.  Other than him, there were only a few impressed professors to notice.  Molly had successfully avoided most human contact and had almost completely isolated herself. With her sterling school records, it was easy to find a job.   She was excited to begin her position at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in London, but was worried about having to work with new people.  She knew that she would be called on to offer assistance in police matters sometimes.  She hoped that it wouldn’t happen often.  Her immediate colleagues were kind and seemed to understand, or even share her shyness.  Molly wondered if morgues always attracted mousey types of people.  Since graduating, she noticed she was feeling lonely again.  She dealt with this by volunteering for overtime, finishing overdue paperwork and generally becoming indispensable.  All her co-workers agreed, things had never gone so smoothly in the morgue, but they wished she would get out a little.  She was such a nice girl after all.

It didn’t take long for Molly to feel completely at home in the morgue.  Molly had only been working at St. Bart’s for about four months when she first met Sherlock Holmes.  He was hard not to notice.  He had the same imperious air of self-importance that her old friend the Marquis had.  Sherlock had entered the morgue in the company of another man, Detective Inspector Lestrade.  The police detective had kindly asked Molly to view one of the bodies.  He presented her with all the proper paperwork, neatly filled out and paper clipped together.  As she pulled the body out of the cold storage, she heard the DI caution the other man, “Don’t touch anything, I mean it.  I shouldn’t even have allowed you in here to look.  And for god’s sake, be nice.”

Molly was a bit worried to overhear this.  She looked back at the young man who had accompanied the DI.  He was tall, with dark curly hair.  He wore a long black coat that was also alarmingly like the one the Marquis wore.  But where the Marquis was dark and gleaming, this man was pale and sallow.  He looked unwell.  Molly had more than a small hunch that it was drugs.  She had seen the same look on addicts waiting outside the free clinic at the hospital.  As she wheeled the body over, the younger man seemed to focus his attention on her.  He gave her a wan smile and reached out a hand.  “Sherlock Holmes.  The chest, if you would” was all he said. 

Molly barely had finished unzipping the body bag when Sherlock quickly leaned toward the body.  He had a small magnifying lens and scanned the torso closely.  Molly stood to the side unsure what as expected of her.  She wrung her hands nervously and looked to the Detective Inspector for some clue as what to do.  Suddenly, Sherlock spun away from the body and marched toward the door.  He was shouting observations and questions back over his shoulder.  DI Lestrade swore and ran after him.  Molly waited a moment, feeling like an idiot, before zipping up the body bag, and wheeling the body back.  She thought the entire encounter was strange, and hoped she had seen the last of the police for a while.

Then next time Sherlock entered the morgue, he did so alone.  He marched up to the table where Molly was sitting and positively loomed over her.  “That is the microscope I prefer to use, the student lab is down the hall” he said sounding bored.

Molly bristled.  She was shy, but she hated when people assumed she was a student.  She stood and turned to face him.  “Yes, the student lab is just down the hall, perhaps that’s where you’re meant to be?” she asked with a bright smile that did little to hide her nerves.

He looked at her aghast.  “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Dr. Molly Hooper.  I work here.  You came in before, with the police detective.  Doesn’t Scotland Yard have their own lab?”

He frowned.  “I don’t work for the police.  They’re idiots.  When are you going to leave and allow me to use this microscope?”

Molly tried to look stern.  She had worked hard to earn her position and didn’t appreciate having her authority challenged by some random person.  She was about to call security when Mike Stamford, one of her favorite colleagues, entered the room and came hurrying over.  He was grinning nervously.  “Molly!  I see you’ve met Sherlock.  Sherlock does have permission to use our labs, actually.  He sort of helps the police once in a while.  This is Dr. Molly Hooper, Sherlock, she’s our newest pathologist.”

Mike was grinning in a desperate sort of way, clearly hoping to prevent a further confrontation.  Molly felt herself deflate a little.  She was no good at power struggles of any sort.  If Sherlock hadn’t suggested that she was a student she probably wouldn’t have reacted so strongly.  She tried to smile at Sherlock, but he had turned to Mike and moved on to berating him, “I absolutely do not ‘sort of help’ the police.  I am a consulting detective, they seek my assistance when they can’t see the obvious, which happens quite often” snapped Sherlock. 

Molly didn’t know what to do.  So she played peace-maker.  “Ah, well then, if it’s so important, go right ahead with this microscope, I’ve just finished anyway” she stammered.  She gathered her things and started moving away when Sherlock reached out and touched her arm.  She looked at him in surprise.  For the first time, she noticed how blue his eyes were. He said, “I do apologize for insinuating you were a student.  It was careless of me.  I must have deleted our previous meeting.”  Without waiting for her to reply, he turned back to the microscope and was silent for the next two hours.

Molly’s first impressions of Sherlock Holmes were largely correct.  He was an arrogant ass, but she also learned quickly that he was a genius.  More than once, he corrected some observation of hers.  It would have been extremely annoying, but he was always right.  Over the first few months that she knew him, Molly watched him become healthier.  His skin no longer looked so sallow; Molly thought he must have stopped using whatever drug he had been doing. 

There was no rhyme or reason to when he came to the lab.  Sometimes he came with members of the police force (most of whom looked seriously irritated.)  Usually he came alone.  He came at all hours of the day or night.  Molly never could understand why, but he began asking for her assistance.  Typically menial things, like a request for more glass slides.  Other times he asked for tissue samples or actual body parts.  Sometimes he did seem interested in her advice and expertise.  Molly always liked to be useful and didn’t mind helping.  Secretly, she liked listening to him while he worked.  He talked to himself at times and it was fascinating to hear how he pieced facts together to find the truth. 

Molly was too shy to talk to Sherlock outright most of the time, unless he said something to her first. She felt herself starting to blush slightly whenever he came into the morgue or lab.  Her ability to form complete sentences seemed to disappear in his presence.  With a queasy feeling, she realized she had a crush on him.  He had begun to talk to her more, and Stamford had told her that Sherlock seemed to come in most frequently when she was working.  “I can’t explain it, but he seems to like you, Molly, which is a blessing for the rest of us, he’s driven all of us to tears at least once or twice” Mike told her once.

She tried to tell herself that her crush was stupid and silly.  But Molly had secretly always hoped she would find her one true love.  She knew the whole idea was childish, but she had never outgrown her longing for romance.  It was clear that Sherlock was a terrible person to have a crush on.  While he was supposedly nicer to her than her co-workers, he was still usually rude at best.  Molly’s ability to stand up to him was wearing away as well.  He had long ago learned that a bit of careful flattery was all it took for Molly to give in.  She hated herself for it, but she was greedy for his attention and was eager to get it anyway she could. 

A few years passed in that fashion.  Weeks would go by with no sign of him, but like a bad ex-boyfriend, he’d turn up with unreasonable demands.  Molly would fruitlessly try to ask him out or get him to notice her.  He’d shout abuse at hospital staff, police or anyone else he found irritating.  Molly would grow tired of his antics and try to find a new crush, which always failed as soon as she saw Sherlock bursting into the morgue again.  Then one day, Sherlock mentioned off-handedly to Mike that he needed a flat-mate.  And that afternoon, Mike returned with a friend from long ago who also needed a flat-mate.  Dr. John Watson soon moved in with Sherlock and Molly found herself rather jealous of Dr. Watson.  He was always with Sherlock now, hanging on to his every word.  She wondered if they were lovers.

It would make it easier, in a way, if Sherlock was gay.  Then it wouldn’t be her fault that Sherlock didn’t notice her pathetic attempts at flirting, she just came equipped with the wrong parts.  Maybe he would finally come out to her and they could have a laugh and go out to bars to chase beautiful boys together.  But John Watson’s vehement denials of his dating Sherlock squashed Molly’s hopes yet again.  She was determined to move on.  She decided to meet new people.  Molly began forcing herself to eat in the cafeteria more often, instead of the usual silent lunches hidden in her office.  She began eating meals with different people every day. There were thousands of staff in the hospital, there had to be someone nice who would be interested in her. She made a few new friends that way, but met no devastatingly handsome suitable boyfriends.  

Luck was with her one day when all the computers were acting up.  The IT department had been called and after hours of waiting, a lovely young man arrived to fix the problem.  He seemed shy when he introduced himself to Molly. He told her his name was Jim.  He also told her he was new and hadn’t met many of the doctors yet.  His voice was soft and sweet.  Molly was entranced.  When he asked if she wanted to go out for coffee she giggled, then said yes.

Her date with Jim was unusual, not that Molly could really judge such things.  He was very sweet, but Molly could sense an underlying strangeness.  Molly noticed something about him that was alarming.  When she was with him, it was very difficult to suppress her death sense.  Over the years, she had gotten so good at ignoring it that she hardly noticed it anymore.  But something about Jim seemed to make her lose that control.  Once, when they were chatting in the morgue, Molly noticed that the death that surrounded Jim was different from other people’s.  She couldn’t figure out why, and she refused to try to figure it out.  Molly wanted a nice, normal night out and she was not about to ruin it.  Despite her death sense acting up, they had a mostly pleasant first date.

Another time he came over to her flat one night and watched TV with her.  They ordered out and ate sitting on her lumpy couch.   He was so interested in her and learning about her work.  He hung onto her every word while holding her hand.  He kissed her gently before leaving.  Molly was giddy.  She was dating someone.  Someone was interested in her. She wasn’t going to die alone and be eaten by her ten cats after all.  Then Sherlock had to come back to the morgue and ruin it all.  She had been so proud to tell Sherlock that she was seeing someone.  Secretly, she hoped he would either notice her or she would get over him.  But Sherlock being Sherlock, he just insulted her and then announced that Jim was gay.  The worst part was, she knew Sherlock was right, he always was. 

Molly broke up with Jim, but of course, that wasn’t the end of it.  No, it would turn out that Jim from IT was actually Jim Moriarty, the madman who had been blowing innocent people up all across London.  Jim had just used her to get a bit closer to Sherlock.  Molly was humiliated.  Her dating days were such a drastic failure that she quit all attempts to meet new people.  She told herself that she wasn’t interested in Sherlock either, though she knew that was mostly a lie.  There were more important things than her crush anyway. 

Her father was dying and Molly focused on him.  Two years previous, he had been diagnosed with liver cancer.  Treatments had seemed to be successful at first, but then the doctors discovered the cancer had spread.  He was going downhill fast.  He tried to put on a brave face and convince her that he wasn’t afraid.  Molly knew better, she might be shy, but she was good at observing people, especially those she was close to.  She knew her dad was scared and sad.  It was plain on his face one day when she saw him sitting in the visitors lounge, waiting for her.  She wished he could just talk to her honestly, but that had never been his way.  She knew he didn’t want her to see him as sick and dying.  He still wanted to be her Daddy and protect her, like always.  So she sat with him in the hospice and watched football matches as he moaned about not being able to drink his favorite beer.  She tried to ask him questions about her mother, but he mostly avoided them. 

As the end drew closer, she told him she loved him and that he had been a good father.  He smiled at that and told her it was because she was such a good daughter. His death was close now; Molly couldn’t stop herself from seeing it.  She was awake and waiting when the phone call from the hospice came at 2:07 in the morning.  After crying a bit, she called work to take a week off.  Burial arrangements had already been made.  There were few people to come to the funeral.  Molly wrapped up what remained of her father’s affairs and went back to work.  She was completely alone now.


	6. Chapter Five

After the death of her father, Molly became even more withdrawn.  The last straw had been the disastrous Christmas party at Sherlock and John’s flat.  She didn’t know why she had agreed to go when John mentioned it.  She had been so excited; it was the first thing she had gotten excited about since the death of her father.   Like an idiot, she bought a new dress and makeup, thinking surely Sherlock would notice. She was giddy as the cab dropped her off.  Carrying her presents carefully, she walked up the stairs to Sherlock’s flat.  It didn’t take long for her to decide she should have stayed home with some wine and watched movies on TV.  At the party, Sherlock had completely humiliated her with his cutting deductions about her outfit and body.  Once he realized how awful he had been, he did apologize nicely.  But the whole affair had made Molly really want to avoid all human contact.  Sherlock disappearing with his phone after receiving a breathy text alert didn’t help either.  Molly stayed long enough to be polite and pretended her heart hadn’t been shattered.  As soon as she could, she fled for the comfort of home, alcohol and Die Hard. 

Things did not improve in the next few days.  It was her first Christmas without her dad, and she was grieving.  She volunteered to cover in the morgue, rather than be alone and sad.  So of course, she was there at the morgue the next day when Sherlock and his terrifying brother Mycroft came to identify a woman’s body.  The dead woman’s face had been heavily damaged.   After Sherlock had identified the woman with a glance at her naked body, Molly knew it was truly hopeless.  Clearly Sherlock did have some sort of a relationship with the woman.  The dead woman had ample breasts and luscious curves.   Molly’s body wasn’t anywhere near as attractive as that woman’s had been.  Sherlock had pointed out Molly’s flaws to her more than once.  His taste in women obviously did not include pathetic little stammering girls like Molly.  Still, Molly remained determined to be his friend.  She had heard him share his views that friends and sentiment were weaknesses he avoided.  But Molly was always watching.  She could see there was more to Sherlock than the cold façade he presented.  He clearly valued John, as well as a few others.  Molly supposed she could count herself among the lucky few.

John’s blog had made Sherlock famous.  He was always busy now.  The times he came to the morgue were even more erratic.  He’d fly in right before the end of Molly’s shift and order her to fetch something.  And Molly’s resolve to stand up for herself would always crumble and she’d end up helping him and hating herself.  Things became even more desperate when their mutual acquaintance Jim Moriarty started acting up again.  Molly had been about to go meet a colleague for lunch.  Joseph was quite nice and Molly almost let herself believe that she was ready to try dating again.  Sherlock had other plans though, and they included Molly helping him once more.  He needed help analyzing evidence from a kidnapping that had clearly been orchestrated by her former boyfriend.  So for hours Molly fetched things, ran tests and generally tried to help without being a nuisance.  During a brief quiet moment, she noticed that Sherlock actually looked sad.  It worried her.  He typically kept his emotions deeply hidden.  Against her better judgment, she tried to talk to him about it, but he mostly brushed her off.  She left the lab rather than start to cry in front of him.  When she came back Sherlock and John were gone.

Later that night, Molly finished cleaning up for the day.  Her shift was long over.  It was late and she was exhausted.  She had spent far too much time helping Sherlock and neglected her own work.  She stayed later to try and catch up. The lab was a mess and she spent a long time putting things back in their proper places. She was tired and desperate for a hot shower.  Molly was leaving when Sherlock appeared before her like a ghost.  Molly was startled, not just by how suddenly he appeared, but by how overwhelmingly strong his death was.  Ever since her brief relationship with Jim, Molly had noticed her death sense getting stronger.  She also noticed that she was losing control over it.  It was impossible to always suppress it now, so she ignored it as much as she could.  As Sherlock stood in front of her his fear was overpowering.  The black smoke of his death was swirling in an agitated fashion that Molly had never seen before, on anyone.  Worst of all, it was obvious that Sherlock was truly desperate and afraid.  His tears were the most troubling thing she had ever seen.  When he asked for her help, Molly was glad to give it. 

Molly was not afraid that Sherlock would die, for though his death was unusual, there was no indication he would die soon.  She thought about trying to tell him this, but knew he would never believe something so ridiculous.  So Molly listened closely to Sherlock’s plans.  He was certain that Jim Moriarty would try to kill him after completely ruining his reputation.  As they worked through the night, Molly was a little relieved to see some of Sherlock’s characteristic arrogance returning.  He was confident he could outwit Jim.  Molly wasn’t so sure.  In the months that had passed since dating Jim, she had begun forming a theory.  Something stood out in her memory.  She didn’t know why, but Jim’s death had always struck her as strange, yet somehow familiar.  Upon further reflection, she realized that it reminded her of her own.  Apparently Deathseer’s deaths looked differently from other people’s deaths. Molly had purposefully avoided spending too much time studying her own death.  The Marquis had warned her that was one way that Deathseers went mad.  She paused and looked at her reflection.  Her own death was there, just like everyone else’s.  When she looked closer, she noticed that small lights seemed to dart and flutter in the mist that made up her death.  She was shocked when she remembered seeing something similar in Jim’s death.  Perhaps her old boyfriend was not just a psychopath but a Deathseer as well.

This was a terrifying notion.  The Marquis had mentioned to Molly once that most Deathseers were female.  She had asked if he knew why, and he admitted to her that he didn’t.  He did tell her that female Deathseers seemed to have a connection with death as a natural part of life.  While the females often lost their minds, they were generally benign and occasionally were able to heal in addition to their other death sensing skills.  Male Deathseers were another matter.  They were rare, the Marquis explained, which was a very good thing.  Male Deathseers sought out violent, unnatural death. They were vicious and capricious, killing at the merest whim.  Crazy as it was, it made some sense that Jim Moriarty was a Deathseer.  However, that could make Sherlock’s plans to fake his death even less likely to work.  Molly had no idea how to explain this all to Sherlock.  He would never believe that there was another London, a realm of magic and mystery just below his feet.

 For now, Molly hoped she was wrong and she would never have to try and explain London Below to Sherlock.  She thought of her silly pink jewelry box and the secret it held.  After her father’s death, she had looked for the coin the Marquis had given her.  For years, it had laid undisturbed in her girlhood jewelry box.  The day after her father’s funeral, she had taken it out and carried it in her pocket.  She found herself putting the coin in her pocket more often.  It was a reminder that she always had another option.  Now, if worse came to worse, she could use the coin to summon the Marquis and then keep Sherlock safe.  The notion of Sherlock in London Below was oddly amusing and horrifying.  What could he deduce about a place of lost time, forgotten people and misplaced magic?

Molly though Sherlock’s plan was too outlandish to work.  He seemed to think he could still outwit Moriarty, thus not needing the elaborate plan to fake his death.  Molly wished she shared his confidence. Finally, it was time.  After a few last minute checks, Sherlock left the lab and headed for the rooftop.  Molly was hidden far below, waiting for whatever would happen.  She bit her lips nervously and tried to think positive thoughts.  She didn’t know what the strange changes to Sherlock’s death meant.   She didn’t think he was due to die, but she was having a complete crisis of confidence in her abilities.  Far above her on the rooftop, Jim Moriarty and Sherlock began their latest duel. 

Sitting in the sunshine, Jim smiled, predatory and confident.  He knew Sherlock would come to meet him face to face.  Honestly, he was so predictable sometimes.  It ruined some of Jim’s fun.  Jim had taken precautions of his own, of course.  He brought his dear companion, Sebastian Moran with him.  Sebastian was another escapee from the lunatic asylum that was the underworld of Dublin. With Jim’s death sense and Sebastian’s ability to make people see what he wanted them to see by producing glamours, the two Irish lads had been nearly unstoppable.  Together they had built a criminal empire that far surpassed anything the world had ever seen.  Of course Sherlock had to come along and spoil things.  But he had also added a new element of fun to the game, for a while at least.  Now was the time for the last round, and Jim was certain that it would be a splendid amusement.  Sebastian was there in case Sherlock got boring. Suddenly, the rooftop door opened and Jim eagerly went to join the dance. 

Jim had waited so long for this confrontation.  All his hard work, clawing his way from the filth and misery of his previous life had led to this brilliant moment. He was desperate for a true challenge and it seemed only Sherlock could provide that.  This was to be their greatest battle.  Like so many things in life, the anticipation was better than the thing itself.  Jim’s hopes came crashing down as soon as stupid Sherlock opened his stupid mouth. Sherlock began by trying to convince Jim that he knew about the computer code that would break all security systems wide open.  Jim was disappointed and angry.  He thought that Sherlock would be too intelligent to fall for such a pathetic ruse.   Obviously Sherlock wasn’t the challenge that Jim thought he would be.  It was a crushing blow.  Jim sighed; he’d have to go through with the other plan then.  He signaled to Moran, who had carefully hidden himself with his gift of misdirection.

“Oh Sherlock, you doofus.  You really thought there was a code?  You’ve fallen like a fool for all the other little tricks.   No wonder you believed this lie.  Don’t you know, all of these detective games, all the funny little crimes, your friends, you’ve made them all up?  You cooked your brain with all the nasty drugs and bad cocaine, or don’t you remember?  They called all the kings horses and all the kings men, but no one could put Sherlock back together again” sang Jim as he strolled in circles around Sherlock. 

Sherlock was confused, but kept control as he moved toward Jim.  “Stop it.  I won’t believe your stories.  I know what is true” he stated firmly.

Jim was really grinning now.  “Do you? Do yooou?” he sang once more.  He giggled.  “It’s a really good trick isn’t it?  Of course, big brother was soooooo worried when the doctors told him just how messed up baby brother was.  The doctors wanted to put poor baby boy in the nuthouse, but that would have just killed Mummy, right?  She never was the same after they locked up dear old dad, eh?  Oh but big brother, he’s so smart, he thought of a lovely way to amuse the little broken one.  Send him a loser police detective to bring clever puzzles for baby brother to solve.  Keep the little one busy, too busy for the drugs and the creeping insanity” Jim hissed.

“But no, that wasn’t enough, little baby was getting bored, danger!  So big brother added the hero worship, what fun!  Mycroft’s been paying the good doctor Watson all this time.  John tells baby brother what a smart, big strong boy he is, and little Sherlock goes on solving his clever crimes.  I mean, you didn’t really think that someone wanted to actually live with you, be your friend, did you?” he sneered.  Jim leapt around, always moving, always smiling.  Sherlock felt dizzy and disoriented.  He tried to grab Jim, but he just danced faster and faster.

“It was all going so well, but lately you’ve really been mucking it up.  The fake stuff wasn’t good enough, you hurt those children Sherlock, you did and everyone knows it” Jim spat.

The world seemed to spin.  Sherlock was getting nauseated, he tried to protest, “No, it was you….”

“No it was YOU! Big brother’s pulling the plug, little Sherlock’s gone too far off the rails now, good thing he’s still got lots of money to clean up all your messes.  So many ugly messes. He’s coming now, he’s found the loveliest place to put the baby boy, better than where Daddy ended up, must keep it out of the papers you know.  He’s hoping you’ll come quietly, wouldn’t want to have a scene now?  For Mummy’s sake, right?” asked Jim.  He pointed behind Sherlock.  As Sherlock turned, he couldn’t believe what he saw.  Mycroft was right there, damn umbrella and all.  He was typing away on his Blackberry, but paused when he saw Sherlock looking at him. 

Mycroft focused his gaze on Sherlock.  “He’s right Sherlock, it’s all fake.  I thought it would help you, keep you busy, Mummy was so worried you might harm yourself.  She always did say you took after Father.  Come along now, don’t make this any more difficult” he ordered.

Sherlock stared at him, horrified.  He no longer had any idea what was real.  It couldn’t possibly be Mycroft, and yet, all the tiny details where there, no one could create a disguise this perfect, not of his brother, whom he had once adored.  It could only be Mycroft.  He felt like his mind was separating from his body.  The threat of insanity was real.  He backed away from his brother. The edge of the roof was close now.  He nearly stumbled, then climbed up on the ledge. “You’re not real.  None of this is real” Sherlock whispered.

Mycroft sighed and reached out his hand.  “Just come down from there, we’ll talk, Mummy’s been so worried.”  Sherlock looked at his brother’s beckoning hand.  He looked down to the road, where he could see John Watson running toward the hospital. “Take my hand now; we’ll let John come with you if it makes you feel better.  Don’t do this to Mummy, not after what Father put her through” Mycroft cautioned.

Sherlock looked over the edge again.  Somehow he had ended up right where he told Molly he would be.  He couldn’t explain anything else, but he knew Molly would be where she said she was.  Everything else was wrong, but Molly had always been reliable.  Molly could fix things. Molly always helped.  Sherlock glanced back at his brother, who was beginning to look impatient.  Sirens began to sound in the distance. All it took was a small step forward.  Hesitating, he slid his foot forward, then just a little further. One more glance back at Mycroft’s outstretched hand. One more slide of his foot. Shouting coming from below now. He stepped off the edge.  As Sherlock fell he thought he heard John Watson’s scream and Jim Moriarty’s laugh mixing in the rush of air.


	7. Chapter Six

Molly’s knees were shaking; she’d been crouched in her hiding spot for too long.  She felt optimistic that maybe this meant Sherlock wasn’t going to go through with his mad plan to jump off the building.  He’d explained how it was supposed to work, but she wasn’t convinced.  Molly was just starting to wonder how long she was supposed to wait, when she heard the screams.  She looked up to see something black fluttering down from the roof.  It fell like a stone, crashing into the truck Molly had been watching.  Molly watched in horror as Sherlock rolled off the truck, covered in blood.  She jumped up and ran inside, the plan had been put in action, and she needed to do her part.  She dashed to the entrance and waited to collect the body.  The gurney came soon after her, bearing Sherlock.  Something wasn’t right; there was too much blood, far too much blood.  One of the emergency doctors was shouting something at her, but Molly wasn’t paying attention.  She grabbed the gurney and shoved it towards the morgue, ignoring the protests behind her.

Once safe in the morgue, Molly locked the doors, and then turned back to the gurney.  Sherlock had been rather vague about how he was going to survive the fall.  She checked his pulse, it was weaker than she would like.  He had definitely hit his head; too much of the blood was his own, not the fake stuff they had made last night.  As Molly completed this cursory examination, she saw something that filled her with dread.  Sherlock’s death, the black mist that surrounded him was moving.  It was trying to force its self into his body.  Molly had been around many dead bodies, but had never seen someone die.  She realized that Sherlock was dying. 

Panicked, she put her hands on his chest.  The Marquis had once off-handedly mentioned that sometimes Deathseers had the ability to heal.  Unfortunately, he hadn’t explained how to do it.  Molly bit her lip and focused on Sherlock.  She could see his death worming its way inside him. She concentrated on the tendrils of blackness that were invading his body.  With great effort, she found she was able to force them away.  Now she could see the damage inside him, Molly shoved the black away from the parts that were broken.  Somehow she could feel the bleeding slowing down.  Sherlock’s death was re-forming outside his body, where it belonged.

Molly nearly collapsed from the effort.  Her lip was bleeding and she was light-headed.  Sherlock seemed stable now, but her work wasn’t done.  She ran over to the paperwork she had prepared the night before.  She rifled through the documents, checking if everything was filed in.  Then she heard rustling noises behind her.  Sherlock was beginning to stir now.  Molly ran back to him and feeling foolish, whispered “Are you alright?”

Sherlock stared at her blankly, eyes unfocused.  Molly patted his shoulder and murmured “You’re in the morgue, you jumped off the roof, remember?  You hit your head, just try to rest for a minute.”  He still didn’t react, and Molly turned back to the desk. She scribbled away on more faked documents when suddenly, Sherlock spoke.

“Why didn’t you let me die?” he asked hoarsely.

“What! That’s not the plan! Sherlock, we spent all night trying to perfect this plan for you to fake your death, not kill you!  Damn it, I’m not going to let you die, that’s why!” Molly shrieked.

Sherlock just looked at her, and then rolled over so he was facing away from Molly.  Then he spoke again, “It’s all fake Molly, none of it is real.  I don’t know what is real.  I can’t think, it doesn’t make sense.” 

“What do you mean?  What happened on the roof?” Molly asked.

“Jim. He told me the truth, everything is fake, my brother did it all.  They always thought I’d end up like father, schizophrenic.  Mycroft was there, he was going to send me away, where they took our father…”

Sherlock’s whole body was shaking now.  Molly threw another blanket on him, smoothing it down, praying he didn’t go into shock.  She tried to take a calming breath, and then leaned close to him, noses nearly touching.  She was running out of ideas.

“Damn it Sherlock, stop it right now!  From now on, just listen to me and shut up! Look at me!  You asked me to save your life and that’s what I am going to do. Jim is a psychotic liar, he’s not telling the truth! Don’t believe him! Just lie down here while I finish everything and trust me, okay?”  Molly was close to shouting, or hysterics.  She glared at Sherlock till he finally nodded his head. 

“Good, that’s good, please just rest, I’m almost finished and then we can leave, I promise everything will work out” Molly sighed.  Sherlock lay down, closed his eyes and was still.  Molly dashed back to her desk.  She finished filling out the fake death certificate and threw it in outgoing paperwork.  She attached the advance orders Sherlock had on file at the hospital, directing his body to be cremated immediately. 

Next, she ran to the cold storage, where the body of an unidentified man had been waiting to be claimed for nearly a year.  The man had died of a drug overdose last New Year’s Eve.  He was close enough in stature to Sherlock, as long as no one at the crematory opened the box, it should work as a substitute.  Molly had already put the sheet-wrapped body in the cardboard box to be transported last night.  She attached all the proper labels and paperwork.  Sherlock hadn’t moved since Molly had shouted at him.  She needed to move the body to the delivery area, but was petrified at the thought of leaving Sherlock alone.  Quietly, she crept back over to Sherlock.

“I have to take the body down to the loading dock.  Will you be okay here by yourself?  Please, please, please don’t move, just wait, it’ll take me a little bit of time, just stay here, please” begged Molly.  Sherlock didn’t open his eyes, but once more nodded, barely.  Molly sighed and then rushed back to the other gurney.

Molly had made this trip nearly every day.  She had escorted many bodies from the morgue to the delivery area to waiting crematory staff or undertakers.  Never before had the journey been so harrowing.  She tried to ease round the corner to the elevators and nearly crashed into John Watson.  Molly shrieked, both from surprise at seeing anyone there and at having to face Sherlock’s best friend.  John was equally startled.  He looked at the box and read the label there.  He paled and shook slightly. “Oh my god, Molly, oh god, is that him?  He’s really…. I mean I thought maybe….” John breathed. 

Molly burst into tears.  Sherlock had explained that if he had to fake his death, the only way for it to work was if John Watson believed it.  Molly thought it was incredibly cruel, but agreed.  Now that she was face to face with Sherlock’s best friend and his grief, she hated herself for agreeing.  John straightened himself, and then wrapped her up in a hug. He murmured something in her ear, but Molly could only hear her own sobs.  She pulled away and choked out, “I’m so sorry John, I’m so so sorry.”

He gently patted her shoulder. Then he asked, “You’re sure then?”

Molly started sobbing harder and could only nod her head.

John looked down for a second.  He wiped his eyes and then stood up straight again. He took a deep breath and whispered, “Thank you Molly, thank you for taking care of him.”  He pulled Molly close for another powerful embrace.  They both clung to each other for a moment.  Molly slowly pulled away, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. 

She looked into John’s eyes, then said, “I’m so sorry, I have to go, good bye John.”    She grabbed the gurney and walked as quickly as she could away from Sherlock’s devastated friend.  She cried some more in the elevator.  When the elevator stopped, she paused to collect herself, and then briskly pushed the gurney down the hall.  The loading dock was in view.  She was a little relieved that Robert wasn’t on duty.  He’d been picking up bodies to deliver to the crematory for years and always liked to talk to Molly.  She didn’t think she could stand having to talk to anyone else.  It was the new driver today; Molly still couldn’t remember his name.  They traded paperwork silently.  Molly could see the driver’s eyebrows rise as he read the name of the body he was delivering.  He signed the last page, handed her the carbon copy and got into the truck with a quick wave.  Molly watched the fake body of Sherlock Holmes drive away and then ran back to the morgue.  It was time to get the real Sherlock out of the building and figure out what to do next.

Molly dragged Sherlock from the morgue by sheer force of will.  He was still dazed.  Molly supposed that jumping off a building, even when part of an elaborate scheme to save one’s life, would be disorienting.  More troublesome, Sherlock seemed lost, like he had given up.  Molly refused to give up.  She didn’t know what the hell had happened on that rooftop, but she believed in Sherlock and always would.  She pulled Sherlock to the lowest level of the car park where she had parked her car late last night.  Sherlock stood next to the car and looked at her blankly.  With a grunt, Molly threw open the car door and shoved Sherlock in the backseat.  “Stay down” she hissed. He obeyed and she jumped in the front seat.  She backed out of the parking space and drove off.  Molly knew Sherlock wouldn’t be safe in London Above as long as Jim was still around, roaming free.  Somehow, she knew that Jim Moriarty was even more dangerous than anyone previously realized.  It was time for Molly to call in her favor from the Marquis de Carabas.

First, they stopped at her flat.  Once more, Molly had to force Sherlock to move. She hauled him out of the backseat of her car and pushed him up the steps into her flat.   As soon as they were safe in her flat, she sat him down on an armchair.  She knelt directly in front of him. “Sherlock, look at me, please” she pleaded.  He slowly lifted his head and finally made eye contact with her.  She nearly sighed with relief.  This was the first major reaction she had gotten from him since he stopped talking.  “Sherlock, we are still in danger.  I know this sounds insane, but I’m certain Jim has some abilities that you don’t know about.  Um … please try and believe me, but I think he can see death, because I can see it too, that’s why I’m so sure” she said in a rush.

Sherlock’s eyes blinked quickly.  He lurched backwards, away from her.  He started to look angry.  “You too Molly?  Do you think I’m a fraud, or is Mycroft paying you off too?  And now you’re mocking me with some sort of nonsensical make-believe?” he growled.  Sherlock tried to leap up from the chair, but Molly shoved him back down, stunning him.

“Please, Sherlock, I’m not trying to mock you, I’m trying to save our lives.  Jim will figure out soon that you didn’t die, he’ll come for us, we need to go somewhere safe.  I know this sounds ridiculous, but you have to believe me.  There’s another London, we can escape there, and try to sort this all out” Molly begged. Tears were falling now; she was terrified that Sherlock would bolt from her flat.  He dropped his head into his hands.  Molly waited for a long minute, till he began to laugh.  It was a mirthless laugh, the laugh of someone without hope.  When he raised his head, Molly was alarmed to see tears in his eyes.  Then he spoke, “Alright, fine, let’s go then, I’m disgraced and dead, what else is left?” He laughed again and then curled up in the chair, a tight ball of misery.

“Just stay here, don’t move, alright, I’m going to gather some things and as soon as we can, we’ll leave” Molly whispered.  She slowly backed away from Sherlock, watching to see if he moved.  When she was satisfied that he wasn’t about to do anything rash, she turned and ran to her bedroom.  She rummaged around in her closet till she found some duffel bags.  One was pink and had flowers and smiley faces on it, but it would have to do.  She found her sturdiest shoes and stuffed them inside.  More clothes followed, along with some toiletries and a few other odds and ends.  On the floor of the closet she found her emergency first aid kit and stuffed that inside.  She ran to the linen closet and threw some bottles of medicine in the bag.  Candles, matches and a flashlight finished off that bag.  The other bag was filled with some blankets, raingear, and batteries.  Molly threw in some energy bars and bottles of water for good measure. 

Finally, she opened the jewelry box her father had given her when she was a little girl.  The tiny ballerina still spun, the music slowing to a dirge.  Molly slid her little finger underneath the ballerina.  The coin was still there, along with some clumps of dust.  She pulled the coin toward her, picked it up and tucked it into her pocket.  Next, Molly took out what little decent jewelry she had.  The Marquis had once told her that there was no money in London Below, transactions were conducted by bartering goods.  She hoped her meager jewelry would help them obtain anything else they needed.  Before closing the bag, she stuffed a picture of her dad inside.  It was the only truly personal item she couldn’t bear to leave behind.

Sherlock hadn’t stirred.  Molly looked outside, it was nearing evening.  She thought it best that they wait till dark to summon the Marquis.  She turned the television on and immediately regretted it.  Every channel was full of breathless reports of the disgraced fraud detective.  Sherlock snapped to attention, sitting up, mesmerized by the chatter of the news.  Molly tried to turn it off, but Sherlock gave her a dark look and whispered “leave it.”  Molly couldn’t bear to watch it and fled to her kitchen.  She tried to eat some leftovers, but couldn’t stomach anything.  After a while she made some coffee and brought some Sherlock.  He accepted it wordlessly, still focused on the television.  Molly was somewhat comforted by the fact that he actually drank the coffee.  After sitting in silence like that for nearly an hour, he spoke again in a whisper, “Everything was a lie Molly.  Jim told me, I know now, my brother, he paid them all, to keep me busy and amused.  I don’t know what to believe. I should have died Molly, it would be better that way.”  He looked up at her, eyes blank.  “You should have let me die.”

Molly was furious. “No, absolutely not, no, damn it!  Don’t you dare believe him, you know he’s wrong, I don’t know how he did it, but Jim is the one who is fake! You are brilliant and I know it.  Don’t you dare give up, we are going to fix this!  Get up! We’re leaving!”

Sherlock looked both startled and impressed by her outburst.  He slowly nodded his head.  Molly grabbed his hand and dragged him from the chair.  She thrust one of the bags into his hands then picked up the other one.  She looked out the front door, when she was satisfied it was safe she seized Sherlock by the hand again and ran downstairs.  This time he got into the car by himself, which made Molly feel a little more hopeful.  She jumped in the driver’s seat and left her flat without a backwards glance.  She drove carefully to the Embankment.  Even though it had been years since their last meeting, Molly still knew exactly where she had last seen the Marquis.  It was fully dark now.  They left the car and Molly tossed her keys on the car seat.  Sherlock was taken aback by this.  He gave Molly a questioning look.  “I told you,” she said, “We’re not coming back here, I won’t need it anymore.”  The look Sherlock gave her clearly told Molly that he thought she was insane.  Molly was just glad he had decided to stick with her.  After they climbed over the barrier by the river, Molly pricked her finger with a pin.  She rubbed her blood on the coin, and then threw it as far into the river as she could. 

Deep in London Below, the Marquis de Carabas was currently reclining on a lovely 19th century settee in the study of the House without Doors.  The affair with the Angel Islington had wrapped up about four weeks ago and the Marquis was still healing.  The Lady Door had graciously insisted that he recuperate at her home and given his diminished condition, he was content to stay put for once.  He had recently gotten his coat back and was quite pleased.  He felt as though he might be back to himself soon.  His peaceful reverie was interrupted by a sudden, shrill sound. Door looked up at him from the desk, equally surprised. At first, he had no idea what the noise was.  He felt about in the many pockets of his coat till he found a small coin.  The coin was glowing red and producing the offending noise.  Why the coin was behaving in such a fashion was not readily apparent.  Then his memories of the girl Molly and her blasted favor came rushing back.  The Marquis groaned.  He swore to himself that never again would he dispense any more favors.  It was far better to be owed favors then to owe them.  He silently debated ignoring the summons, but to no avail.  Molly had earned her favor; she had helped him hide his life away successfully. He had to answer the summons.  He stood up stiffly, still feeling each and every cut that Croup and Vandemar had given him.  Muttering darkly, he stomped over to Door to ask her to let him out into London Above

Molly and Sherlock had been sitting next to the river for nearly forty five minutes.  Sherlock had closed his eyes and leaned back against the stone work.  He was pondering throwing himself in the river, but reasoned that Molly would probably attempt to save him, she was foolish like that.  Molly was twisting her hair around her fingers.  She kept looking at her watch, fretting over the time.  Perhaps the Marquis had forgotten his deal.  Maybe he lost the coin or worse, his life.  Molly was sure she was on the verge of a full blown anxiety attack when a familiar voice drawled from above her, “Why Molly, whatever are you doing down there in the muck?”  It was the Marquis, dressed as ever in a ridiculous array of fashions.  Molly noticed a new addition to his look, a strange high collar that completely covered his neck.

Molly jumped to her feet and furiously whispered “I’m waiting for some mad bastard to come and repay his favor!”

The Marquis smiled, he had forgotten how amusing Molly could be.  With his usual cat-like grace, he leapt over the barrier, landing softly in front of her.  “Dear Molly, we meet again, have you started to go insane, or just seen the appeal of living underground?” he purred.  He turned around to look at her from all angles, licking his lips.  At this moment, he noticed Sherlock, who was still sitting next to the wall, staring at him. “What the hell is this?” the Marquis hissed at Molly.

Molly took a deep breath, “This is Sherlock, he’s my friend and he’s coming with me” she said.

“Our bargain was just for you, no hangers on allowed.”  De Carabas sniffed.  “Honestly Molly, I thought we had something special and now you show up with some overgrown elf and expect me to bring him along on our merry way?  I think not.”

Sherlock leapt to his feet.  He still wore his long black coat, stained with blood though it was.  He walked toward them angrily.  Molly had the strange sensation of being bookended.  She was standing in between two of the most beautiful men she had ever seen, one dark, the other pale.  It was remarkable how they both wore the most marvelous coats, she mused.  No one else could ever pull such a look off.  On anyone else, those long black coats would seem silly, but each man looked magnificent in his.  She was shaken out of this thought by the realization that both men were now glaring at her.  Sherlock spoke first.  “Who is this, Molly? Some circus friend of yours?” he spat.

Now the Marquis looked murderous. “Molly, I only came because I owe my life to you, I’ll take only you, now hurry up” he warned.

Molly looked closer at the Marquis.  In her initial happiness to see him, she hadn’t looked at him very carefully.  Now she noticed.  The Marquis was without a death.  He was in fact, already dead.  Molly’s eyes grew wide and she reached out for him.  “Oh my god, you did it, didn’t you?  That egg, you actually used it, you’ve died, you’re dead” she stuttered.  Molly reached out and touched his hand.  Instantly she was flooded with visions of how the Marquis had died.  She saw every terrible wound being inflicted, every cut and gash.  She saw the glee with which Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar had wielded their weapons.  Molly had seen many dead bodies that had suffered horrendous injuries, but never had she seen such torture imposed.  She was overwhelmed by the horror that the Marquis had undergone and dropped to her knees, dry heaving and crying.  Sherlock was soon at her side, an arm wrapped around her and scowling at the Marquis.  Molly was so shocked by Sherlock’s concern that she stopped crying almost immediately.

“What did you do to her?” demanded Sherlock.

The Marquis said nothing at first, merely glanced down and adjusted his coat.  He ignored Sherlock and knelt down next to Molly.  “I’m sorry you had to see that Molly.  You’re right; I had to use the egg we created.  It’s a lovely story really, I’ll tell you all about it when we’re safe and sound, now please, let’s leave” he said.  He pulled Molly back to her feet, carefully covering his hand with his sleeve.

Molly sniffed one last time and shook her head.  “I’m sorry, but I have to bring Sherlock with me, I’ll owe you another favor if that’s what it takes” she said.  She hugged herself and shivered.

She watched for a moment as the Marquis began to pace.  Sherlock was still holding her other arm.  Molly slipped her hand down inside his hand and waited.  The Marquis looked back at the two of them. Molly obviously cared quite a lot for this man.  Her power was very weak, had she used it to heal him? The Marquis idly wondered if this man understood what Molly was giving him.  Finally the Marquis huffed and sighed “Alright, fine bring him along, Sherlock is it?  Odd sort of a name for an odd sort of a creature, I suppose.  You haven’t brought any other lost foundlings, have you Molly?  I really can’t guarantee his safety, you know.  I’ve enough to worry about with you as it is.”  The Marquis reached somewhere deep in his coat and found a pair of black leather gloves.  He gracefully pulled them on and extended his hand once more to Molly.  She took the Marquis’ hand, and then looked back at Sherlock.  He looked more afraid than he had the night before.  Molly gave him what was meant to be a reassuring squeeze and held his hand firmly.  She and Sherlock followed the Marquis as he strode through a large wooden door that hadn’t been there previously.


	8. Chapter Seven

As soon as the wooden door slammed, the group was plunged into darkness.  The Marquis drew a long taper from another pocket and lit it.  He turned to his latest traveling companions.  “Look, from now on, these are the rules.  If I tell you to do something, you do it.  No questions.  No arguments.  There’s all sorts of nastiness that won’t hesitate to maim, throttle or kill you.  Molly, if there’s trouble, I’ll help you as best I can, your friend is on his own” he stated. 

Silently, they began to walk through a brick tunnel, the Marquis in the lead, Molly right behind him and Sherlock at the rear.  The tunnel was a relic of a past building project that had become obsolete before it was finished.  It was cramped and smelled unpleasantly of mold and sour milk.  As they walked, the Marquis de Carabas was debating if it would be worth it to order Molly’s obnoxious friend to do something silly, just to see if he would do it.  The idea of making him crow like a rooster had a certain immediate appeal.  However, while amusing, it would likely upset Molly and make the tall pale pain-in-the-ass less likely to listen if the Marquis did need to issue orders.  Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair mused the Marquis. 

Molly was right at his heels.  She was busy with her own thoughts.  She hadn’t given Sherlock much information about what she was getting them into.  She was worried he would come to despise her as he learned more about his new home.  She kept glancing back to make sure that Sherlock was still following them.  He was not far behind her, eyes focused on the ground.  The tunnel began sloping downwards.  Drips of water fell intermittently from the ceiling.  The air grew cooler as they passed beneath the river.

Now the tunnel was sloping back upwards.  The Marquis stopped before a rusty door set in the brick work.  He pulled a strangely shaped piece of metal from within his coat and stuck it in a keyhole.  He yanked on it and the door opened.  Next he ushered Molly and Sherlock through.  They began walking down another tunnel, this one in slightly better repair, it was wider and there was no water leaking from the ceiling.  As they continued the Marquis turned and spoke to Molly.  “So, why bother me now, and please, do explain why you felt the need to bring along such a charming guest” he asked.

Molly giggled nervously. “Um, well, I haven’t been really using my death sense, which is kind of funny, because I work with dead people, or at least I did, doing autopsies.  And Sherlock, he’s a detective and solves crimes, so he would come by sometimes and need to look at a corpse or something. And, well, so, I helped him sometimes” she trailed off at this point in the story.  She looked back at Sherlock, who still seemed to be far away, deep in his own mind.  Molly took a deep breath and continued.

“Um, and then there was this other man, he said his name was Jim Moriarty, but that could be an alias, I don’t know.  And we went on a few dates, but he was really just interested in finding out about Sherlock.”

The Marquis looked at her with raised eyebrows.  “Please tell me Molly that this isn’t your way of dealing with some debauched love misadventure” he drawled.

Molly turned beet red. “No!  I mean, Jim was this crazy criminal guy, and he was playing this sick game with Sherlock.  Oh, and I think Jim is a Deathseer too”

“Stop” the Marquis interrupted.  “Did you just say you met another Deathseer, and a male one at that?” he asked.

“Oh, um, yes, see he was killing people, really evil, and Sherlock was trying to stop him, but uh, Jim he managed to trick everyone into thinking that Sherlock was the bad one, but he’s not! And then Sherlock asked for my help, to fake his death, but Jim is still out there and I didn’t know what to do … I thought we might be safe down here” Molly sighed.  “I know it’s all crazy and idiotic sounding, but I’ve been awake for oh, thirty some odd hours now and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Tears began to flow down her face.  The Marquis stopped and brushed a few off her cheek.  “Molly, it was a terrible idea” he told her tenderly.  She cried harder at this, hiccupping as she sobbed.  Sherlock loomed next to them and scowled at the Marquis.

“Why is she crying?” Sherlock demanded.

The Marquis opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Molly covered his mouth with her hand.  She spoke instead, “I’m okay, I’m just really, really tired.”  She shivered and yawned.  Suddenly her eyes fluttered and she slumped against the Marquis.  Both he and Sherlock tried to grab her, but they ended up shoving each other out of the way, and Molly slowly drooped to the floor.

“Now look what you’ve done” chided the Marquis as he knelt down next to Molly.  Sherlock glared at him.  “She’s passed out, exhausted.”  The Marquis paused, and then gathered Molly up in his arms. 

In an alarmed tone Sherlock said “Maybe we should let her rest.”

The Marquis was already striding away, carrying Molly.  He called back over his shoulder, “Yes, that’s a splendid plan; you just go on and stay right there.  Let us know how it works out.”

Sherlock snorted, and then followed along at a leisurely pace.  He would not run to catch up even if it killed him.  They continued along, the Marquis carrying a snoring Molly.  Sherlock was left to hold her bags and follow the strangely dressed man and the sleeping pathologist.  They twisted and turned more times. Finally they entered a sewer.  After an hour, the terrain became noticeably more difficult.  This section of sewer had been abandoned for over a century and fallen bricks littered the path.  The Marquis spun around and grinned at Sherlock.  “You know, you’re the one that’s caused all this, you can repay her by helping to carry” he announced.  The Marquis shoved the still sleeping Molly at Sherlock who quickly dropped the bags in order to keep her from falling.  Molly just sighed and wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s neck.  The Marquis smirked at Sherlock and marched along, delicately traipsing over the debris. 

Neither man would look at the other for most of the remainder of the journey.  Sherlock struggled to carry Molly through the derelict sewers and tunnels, but he refused to ask the so-called Marquis for help of any kind.  Sherlock wondered how on earth sweet and innocent Molly had met such a fiend. He was also troubled by her seeming fondness for him.  As they walked, Sherlock was rapidly deducing as much as possible about his new environment and disliking everything about it.   For most of the journey, he was also fighting a battle against his emotions, and losing.  If he chose to admit it, he would have to say he was terrified, angry and depressed.  He refused to admit anything, least of all to himself.  He fought to keep his face a blank mask whenever the Marquis glanced back at him. 

The roundabout route the Marquis had taken them on was now passing through an open space.  For the first time, they could see evidence of others.  From out of the shadows came a pair of pale young women dressed in dark velvet.  Both hissed at the Marquis, who merely smiled and gave them a mocking bow.  Lanterns were flickering on the walls, tunnels and pipes branched out in various directions.  The Marquis turned into another tunnel.  Then Molly began to stir in Sherlock’s arms.  She stretched, opening her eyes.  Upon realizing she was being carried by Sherlock, she squeaked, arms and legs flailing about everywhere.  Before Sherlock could drop her, the Marquis was there to assist her to standing.

“You passed out, no trouble, my dear.  Sherlock was gallant enough to carry you for a while, but fear not, we’ve almost arrived” the Marquis smiled.  He took Molly by the hand once more.  Molly was still blushing.  She thought she ought to thank Sherlock, but was afraid to see the look on his face.  They walked in silence for another forty minutes and then stopped in front of rather unremarkable patch of wall.  The Marquis made quite a show of tapping a series of bricks.  Shortly after he finished, a line of light raced across the bricks, creating a roughly rectangular shape.  The light flared once, and there was now an opening in the wall.  Wooden stairs could be seen leading upwards.  After they stepped through the doorway, the bricks quickly reappeared.  The Marquis marched up the stairs and knocked on the door at the top.  There was another brief pause, and then the door opened. 

In a bored tone, the Marquis announced, “Lady Door, may I present my old friend, Molly Hooper. Oh, and her irritating traveling companion whose name I have forgotten.  I should also add that I was unaware that Molly felt so compelled to bring the brute with her, as I was only intending to bring one stray to your home.”

Molly looked around the Marquis to see who he was speaking to.  A young woman stood on the other side of the door.  Molly thought the woman was younger than her, but it was hard to tell.  She wore a strange assortment of clothes, red leather trousers underneath a wispy tulle and lace skirt plus a ripped up Clash t-shirt.  Over everything she wore an extremely large purple plaid cardigan.  Her short hair was somewhere between red and brown, the color seemed to shift as she moved.  She smiled at Molly and held out her hand, “Hello, I’m Door, you needn’t bother with the ‘Lady’ bit, he just does that to impress people.  I’m excited to meet you; I don’t often meet people that this maniac owes favors to.”

The Marquis de Carabas rolled his eyes and pushed past them.  He went to a nearby couch and flopped on it, closing his eyes.  Molly shook hands with Door.  She then reached back for Sherlock’s hand and said “Thank you, I’m Molly and this is my …” She paused and thought.  Forcefully, she announced “he’s my friend, Sherlock, and um we’re both sort of new here…”

Door smiled at them both and gestured for them to come inside.  “Welcome, this is my home, the Marquis told me you’d need some help getting settled.  Why don’t you both rest a bit and we can all talk more when it’s time to eat.”  And so Molly and Sherlock entered the House without Doors.

As they stood in the entrance hall, Door briefly explained to her guests how her unusual home worked.  “It’s sort of a security feature; I guess you could say; only openers like my family can easily get from room to room.  I’ll take you to the guest suites, you won’t be able to leave till I come back for you, but there are two bedrooms and bathrooms, and a fireplace.  If you really need something, just bang on the door, I’ll hear it and check on you.”

Door led Molly and Sherlock across the bright white entry room and stopped before one of the many paintings on the wall.  “You two hold hands, and Molly you take my hand.  Um, you might see some things as we travel, they’re old memories, it’s a little weird the first time” Door explained.  She reached up and touched the painting.

_A man and a young girl have just entered an ornate sitting room.  There is a roaring fire in the fireplace and the whole space is cozy and inviting.  The man gestures to one of the armchairs.  Another man is sleeping there. He snorts and twitches in his sleep.  He has white hair and an eye patch.  The little girl whispers, “Dad, who is that?”  Her father replies “Door, I’d like to introduce you to the Earl of Earl’s Court.”_

Molly blinked and realized she’s standing in the same room she just saw.  Quickly, she checked the armchairs, but no one is seated there now.  She looked back to Door, who drew a shaky breath. “Sorry, um, I haven’t been here in a while, I wasn’t expecting to see that” she said.  Molly knew that Door was about to cry, so she reached up to pat her on the shoulder.

“Thank you Door.  This is a really lovely room, thank you so much for allowing us to stay here” Molly replied.  Sherlock remained silent.  He stalked across the room, studying everything along the way. 

Door smiled back at Molly.  “I’ll explain more later, I hope to learn more about you too, Molly.  It’s a hard thing to earn a favor from the Marquis, I’m dying of curiosity.  Oh, there’s bound to be some clothes in the wardrobes, please take them if you need to change.  There’s some stuff for tea up here as well, the kettle’s next to the fireplace.  I’ll be back in a few hours to take you to diner.  Just pound on the door if you need me before then.”  And with that, Door left.

Molly dropped her bags and then collapsed in the closest armchair.  A small fire was burning in the fireplace, warming the room considerably.  Molly slowly scanned the whole room, behind her, the door they entered through, and on either side of the fireplace was another closed door.  There were bookshelves along one wall, each shelf stuffed with books, scrolls, and other oddities.  Sherlock was examining some sort of brass and wood instrument on one of the shelves while Molly sat.  A heavily carved wooden desk rested in front of the bookshelves.  The walls were covered in thick, ornate drapes that covered a pair of windows.  Molly was almost afraid to breathe on anything; it looked like a set from a BBC historical drama.  Sherlock was evidentially not as impressed.  He fiddled with the desk, removing drawers and scowling at the contents.  Molly sighed, and then stood up to check the bedrooms.

The bedrooms were equally lavish.  Each room featured a massive bed, complete with canopy and brocade curtains.  The room to the right of the fireplace was decorated in a more feminine style, mostly pink colors and a dainty dressing table.  Molly tossed her bags in that room.  Both bedrooms had large wardrobes, which must be direct connections to Narnia, Molly thought.  She was disappointed to find just clothes, but cheered up slightly when she realized she had never seen clothes like these.  Each wardrobe was stuffed with clothes from a myriad of eras, velvet and taffeta mixing with lace and denim.  It was the best set of dress up clothes Molly has ever seen.  Strangely, Molly felt herself start to unwind.  She wandered back toward the armchairs and the fireplace. Molly was almost completely relaxed, but then Sherlock startled her.  He appeared silently behind her with an ominous scowl on his face. 

“I’m hoping Molly, that you will shed some more light on this interesting situation I find myself in” he intoned darkly.

“Um, right, well, remember I said there is another London, and, uh, that’s where we are, London Below.  Um, when I was just 19, I met the Marquis and he told me all about it.  He could tell that I have this talent, he called it, I can see people’s death” Molly began.  She risked a glance at Sherlock, who was obviously dubious and clearly unimpressed.

Molly continued, “So, what he really wanted was get me to hide his life away in this egg, I didn’t really understand it at the time.  The Marquis told me how to make my death sense stronger, and I got pretty good at controlling it.  They we made this egg, and it kinda freaked me out, but the Marquis he wanted me to come down here.  I didn’t want to at the time, but he had told me people with this death sense, sometimes they go crazy, and it’s easier to deal with in London Below.  So we made a deal, that I could call him to come back if I wanted to leave for London Below.  And that’s what I did, I called him, he came and now we’re here.”  Molly bit her lip; she knew this explanation was a terrible one. 

Sherlock just looked angrier.  “You have not yet explained why I am here, nor given me a single reason to believe any of this nonsense you have regurgitated.”

“I know this is, um, a bit weird, but please believe me, I can sense death, I can tell when people are going to die.  And I’m fairly certain that Jim Moriarty has the same abilities I do, maybe more, he’s probably more dangerous that we even know.  There’s no way you would be safe, you said he’s still out there, it won’t take him long to figure out you didn’t die, and it won’t take him long to figure out I helped you.  I just wanted to keep us both safe” explained Molly.

Sherlock strode about the room furiously.  “Molly, you can’t be serious.  Take me back to Baker Street. Immediately” he growled.

“Ah, well, as I understand it, we, um are sort of a part of London Below now.  People in London Above, regular London, they can’t see us.  We don’t exist to them anymore.  I know it’s all very weird and insane, but please trust me.  I think maybe Jim Moriarty came from down here, maybe we can find out more about him and figure out how to stop him.  Please Sherlock, I truly didn’t know what else to do, I promise I’ll help you make this all work out” Molly begged.

Sherlock was silent.  He continued to pace, head bowed.  After another ten very tense minutes, he flung himself in the other armchair.  Molly stared at her hands, and then took a deep breath.  She stood, going next to his armchair and kneeling down.  Molly patted Sherlock’s forearm and whispered “I’m going to help you, no matter what, you’ll fix all of this and then we can find a way to go home.”

Like a monster, rising from the depths, Sherlock stood, and stormed away from Molly.  His rage was nearly incandescent.  He shouted “Stop it! I can’t bear any more of this idiocy!  Go away!  I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your help and I don’t want you!”  He whirled away, stalking back to the bookshelves on the other side of the room, knocking things over as he went.

Molly turned and fled to the pink bedroom.  After she slammed the door, she locked it, knowing that Sherlock could easily pick the lock if he chose to.  She sobbed as she sank to the floor.  But, no, it was not far enough away, so Molly jumped back up almost immediately.  She raced to the bathroom and locked that door too.  The floors and walls of the bathroom were all gleaming marble. The bathtub was immense and inviting.  Molly turned on the tap and breathed in the rising steam.  She noticed an assortment of small bottles of bath salts and fragrant oils.  Seeking any sort of distraction, Molly fiddled with the bottles, adding different amounts to the rising water.  She climbed in the bathtub and sank into the warmth of the water and silence.


	9. Chapter Eight

Sherlock paced, circling the room faster and faster.  He hated these emotions, but there was no denying it, he was scared.  He was afraid of his strange new world, but more so, afraid that he had just permanently damaged whatever sort of a relationship he and Molly Hooper have.  He begged her to help him and in repayment he gave her only more cruelty.  He behaved awfully, Grandmother would be appalled.  She had always insisted he be a gentleman.  Sherlock thought about picking the lock, dashing into the bedroom and pleading with her for her forgiveness.  He decided against it.  Molly would likely only be angered at this intrusion and he still had some shred of arrogant pride to protect.  He studied the bookshelves.  He picked up scrolls and books, sneezing at the clouds of disturbed dust.  After exploring a little while longer, he finally stomped back to the armchairs by the fireplace.  He sat down and waited, drumming his fingers on the armrest.  Molly would have to come out sooner or later.

Molly allowed the warmth and stillness of the water to soothe her.  She felt her tears and humiliation leave her.  Now she was angry.  She had been angry with Sherlock before, but this time it was different.  He had told her she counted, and asked her to do the impossible.  She had done the impossible.  She had saved him and all she received was more agony.  She had given up her entire life to protect him.  Molly couldn’t remember if he had even thanked her at all for her part in his crazy plan.  She had saved his damn life and he couldn’t even be bothered to thank her.  A small voice in the back of her mind tried to remind her of the concern he had shown for her back on the banks of Thames, and of him carrying her through London Below.  This same small voice attempted to remind Molly that Sherlock was likely still in shock and confused.  Molly told the small voice to shut the hell up as she stood up from the bathtub and began to dry herself off.

As soon as Door returned to the entry hall, she marched over to the still prone Marquis de Carabas.  She poked him.  “Start talking, I mean it, you’ve never really told me what the hell happened when you left me and Richard.  What on earth did that woman do that earned her such a huge favor?” demanded Door.

The Marquis stretched his long arms and legs.  “I told you all you need to know, I went to have a chat with the gentlemen who killed your family, they told me things, I ran, they caught me and killed me, quite painfully I might add, and after a truly lovely insiders tour of the sewers, my body was brought to the Floating Market by the Sewer Folk.  Old Bailey bought my corpse, broke an egg and brought my life back to my body, which was in considerable disrepair.  As soon as I was able, I rushed off to find you and Richard, which lead to an exciting series of events at the end of Down Street, culminating in you sending an angel and two monsters to a strange faraway place, and then everyone taking a nap” he yawned loudly after finishing this tale.  Then he stood and stretched once more before speaking again.

“As to Molly, I encountered her years ago when I was taking an ill-advised stroll through London Above.  I told you, she’s the one who helped me create that egg I hid my life in. She’s a Deathseer.  It’s a specialized sort of skill; one has to be born with the talent to do so.  I recognized that she had that kind of talent, and was likely bound to end up down here or a suicide.  So I helped her discover her talent, and might have along the way coached her to make the egg for me.  I offered to bring her here then, but she was unwilling.  However, she proved craftier than I gave her credit, and she demanded I offer her token that would summon me to return if she decided at a later date to make a permanent change of address.  She bade me come to collect her and so I did, the man she brought along, well that was a surprise,” frowned the Marquis.

Door cocked her head, “Now what?  You aren’t going to just abandon her are you?” she asked.

The Marquis had walked away from her.  Door couldn’t see his face as he replied.  “Humph, I brought her here safely didn’t I?  And I even made sure her overly tall companion made it in one piece, though I ought to have found something vicious to feed him to.”  He paused and walked a little farther away before continuing.  “I did mention that my body is healing at a miserably slow pace, and she may be able to help speed that up, Deathseer’s can heal sometimes. She was training to be a doctor, she may have some useful skills that will allow her to make her own way.  If she can heal me, I’ll owe her once more.  I’ll help her get set up then.  That man is on his own, he’s nothing to me.”

Door frowned. “Must you always be so mercenary?  What if she can’t fix you?  Would you really just leave her to stumble around on her own then?” she asked.

“Of course.  You know what I am, I do nothing without there being some profit to myself” he replied, sniffing.

Door shook her head.  She didn’t believe him, not really, not anymore.  After everything they had suffered together, she felt that perhaps he wasn’t as much a monster as he liked to claim.  She still didn’t trust him entirely, but after someone has saved your life, it’s hard not to see the good they try to hide.  She sighed, then asked, “Fine, what about dinner?  Do you feel up to eating?”

The Marquis glanced down, embarrassed, then nodded.

Door smiled, “Good, then I’m gonna go and check on the kitchens, I’ll meet you back here in an hour and we can go get our guests.”

After she finished her bath, Molly dried off and braided her hair.  It was a relief to smell of lavender and lemons instead of muck and death.  She wrapped herself in a huge fluffy robe and then walked into the bedroom and to the wardrobe stuffed with clothes.  She began to pull out items, making two piles, one of maybes and the other of no-way-in-hell.  With a sudden pang, she was reminded of long ago evenings with Rebecca, playing at dress-up before parties.  Molly pushed that thought out of her head.  She had a new reality to focus on.  There were many clothes, there seemed to be no end of items slipping from the wardrobe.  All different sizes, textures, styles and fads were represented.  Molly tried on a department’s store worth of garments before making her final decision, a long red dress.  It had long sleeves and a low neckline. The bodice was fitted close to her body, but the skirts were full and flowing.  The dress was also adorned with intricate black beading that shimmered when light struck it.  All in all, it was a very un-Molly sort of dress. 

Molly dug through her bag, looking for the jewelry she had brought to trade.  She found her silver necklace with a round locket.  The front of the locket had a carved black stone.  She had seen it once in an antique shop, the owner said it was a mourning piece.  Inside the locket was an old photo of a young couple.  Molly had left the photo there as a memorial to the forgotten former owner.  She put it around her neck and was pleased by how it looked.  As she spun around to see herself in the mirror, she heard the sound of the door in the sitting room opening.

Door and the Marquis had just returned to the guest suite.  Sherlock had been napping, but leapt up as they entered.  They each noticed that Sherlock was alone. The atmosphere in the room was odd.  The Marquis instantly read the situation.  Something had happened between the two guests, and it hadn’t been pleasant.  Finally, an opportunity to have some fun, thought the Marquis.  Before Door could even open her mouth to speak, one of the bedroom doors opened, and out streamed Molly.  The Marquis was pleased to see that she had changed into something much more flattering. She really did have an atrocious sense of style.  Now she looked attractive and feminine.  Molly was so focused on walking toward Door and the Marquis, that she missed the shocked look on Sherlock’s face.  The Marquis, as was his nature, missed nothing.  He grinned and reached out a gloved hand to Molly, bowing elegantly as she approached.  “Why Molly, how fetching you are.  I do hope you didn’t dress just for my pleasure,” he flattered.

Both Molly and Sherlock seemed to flush a bit at this flirtation.  The Marquis was delighted by Sherlock’s evident irritation.  Molly smiled brightly at the Marquis and took his hand.  “Do you like it?  I couldn’t resist, thank you so much for allowing me to borrow it, Lady Door.” Molly said.

Door smiled back at her, puzzled at the weird atmosphere in the room.  “You’re welcome, of course, um, well, let’s go eat, and anyway, you really don’t have to bother with the whole Lady thing, honestly, just call me Door,” she said.  Door took Molly’s hand in her left hand, and the Marquis quickly maneuvered around to take Molly’s other hand.  Door stretched out her other hand to Sherlock, who slowly came over to take it.  With that, Door reached out and touched the door, and brought them all to the dining room.

_A girl in a long white gown stands in front of a large wooden table that is heavily laden with dishes and food.  It is Door, daughter of Portico on her 10 th birthday.  She is wearing flowers in her hair and they itch dreadfully. She wrinkles her nose in frustration.  She tries to scratch the itch without ruining her elaborate hairstyle.  A door on the side of the room opens and in races a smaller boy.  He is shouting and pointing back at the woman who follows him.  She carries a massive cake…._

Like the rest of the house, the dining room was a relic from a past age.  A massive table dominated the center of the room.  Twelve chairs surrounded the table.  It was set with heavy silver candelabras, an assortment of steaming serving bowls and fine porcelain plates.  Door led her dining companions to their seats and began to pour wine into crystal goblets.  Soup had been served, and Molly instantly began to eat.  It had been far too long since she had actually eaten anything and she was starving. The soup was delicious, filled with chunks of tender meat.  Fresh, warm rolls accompanied the meal and Molly broke one open to dip in her soup, not caring if it was proper.  The Marquis sat next to her.  He leaned back in his chair and insolently tipped the chair back, resting his massive black boots on the table top.  He smiled at Molly as he raised his goblet and drank.  Door and Sherlock sat across from him.  Door was also enthusiastically eating her soup.  Sherlock hadn’t touched anything.  Molly took a draught of wine and was about to ask a question when suddenly Door made a strange strangled sound.

Everyone froze and looked at Door.  She was staring at the Marquis with a look of embarrassment, and then quickly looked away.  Molly and Sherlock turned their gaze to the Marquis.  He was still drinking from his goblet and hadn’t noticed her.  He slowly noticed everyone was staring at him and slammed the goblet down.  “What?  What the hell is wrong?” he growled.

Molly realized what Door was staring at.  The snowy-white high lace collar the Marquis wore was becoming stained with red wine.  Reflexively, she put her hand to her neck.  The Marquis narrowed his eyes at her, and then reached up to touch his own neck.  As his hand touched his neck, he nearly lost his balance, almost tipping his chair completely over.  He thrashed about, usual elegance forgotten, but then managed to right himself and place his feet on the floor. He jumped from his seat and yanked the collar from around his neck.  Everyone at the table winced as the ragged gash across his throat was exposed.  “Shit! Damn it!” he exclaimed before angrily stomping out of the room.

Molly stood, intending to follow him, but was stopped by Door.  “Wait, just leave him Molly, give him some time” Door explained.  Both Sherlock and Molly were staring at her, so she continued on. 

“Um, well, not too long ago, I needed some help, because, uh, my family was killed and I was in a lot of danger.”  She stopped for a second, needing a moment to collect herself before resuming her story. 

“Anyway, the Marquis, he already owed my family a favor, so he helped me, and well, he went to these murderous bastards to find out what the hell was going on because he had that egg.  He knew they would kill him, and they did.  But a friend brought his life back with that egg.  He was able to help me, and it all ended okay, but, um, his body is still sort of a mess.”  Door took a deep breath and twisted her napkin.

“He’s still having some problems, mostly um, with liquids” she finished.

Molly was horrified.  She tried to stand again, but her legs shook uncontrollably. “Oh my god, Door, when I touched him, I could see what happened to him.  It was brutal,” Molly said.  She swallowed, and then looked at her hands.

“Door, I think I can help him, um I guess he mentioned that I’m a Deathseer, I might be able to heal him. I mean I already did it once today, it’s worth a try, right?” Molly asked.

Sherlock jerked his head.  Since Door and the Marquis had returned to the sitting room, he had said nothing, remaining focused on how he could beg for Molly’s forgiveness.  With a jolt, he realized that the person Molly had healed earlier was him.  He shrank even further back into himself, mortified.  He risked a glance at Molly.  She was focused on Door, who was thinking.  Finally, Door said, “We can go and try it later, he’ll be mad if we go now.  Let’s just finish up eating, shall we?”

Molly nodded her head and resumed eating.  Sherlock stared at her.  He desperately wished she would look back at him, but she avoided any eye contact with him.  More courses were served, and Molly and Door talked some more, but Sherlock ignored everything but Molly.  He wished he could pull her away, somewhere private and plead for her forgiveness, not that he was worthy of it.  He knew that he could not afford to lose her.  Her concern for the Marquis frightened him.  The prospect of facing his future in this strange underground world without her was too horrible to contemplate.  The two women finished eating and began to stand.  They started to walk away, toward the doorway that the Marquis had vanished through.  Sherlock knew they were talking, but heard nothing.  He dashed forward and grabbed Molly’s hand.  He breathed her name, “Molly.”  Before he could continue, she whirled around and slapped him.

“Don’t you dare touch me, ever!  We are finished!” she hissed.  She stalked away as he stumbled backwards into the table.  Molly vanished into the hallway with a swirl of her red skirts.


	10. Chapter Nine

Door heard the commotion between Molly and Sherlock. She had no idea what was going on, but it was clear that the two needed to be separated for a while.  Door ushered Molly to the open French doors at the end of the hallway.  The doors opened on to a small courtyard.  The walled courtyard was a leftover from an earlier age.  Once it had been a small enclosed garden at a magnificent home.  One perfect June night, a fire ravaged that section of the city, destroying the house and its pleasing gardens.  Door’s grandfather had discovered that peaceful June evening lost in the Underside and merged it into the fabric of his home.  It was accessible through the formal dining room, and was a popular spot for guests to relax after meals.  The Marquis had fled there after his embarrassment at the table.  He spent a few gratifying moments crushing flowers, kicking plants and muttering angrily.  He hated to give into his tempers, but his frustration had reached a boiling point.  He only indulged in his tantrum briefly; he didn’t want to soil his clothing.  Now he was calm.  He knew that Molly would seek him out. He was seated on a small stone bench, waiting, when she entered the courtyard.

Now that she had delivered Molly, Door went back towards Sherlock.  She sighed.  She wished her parents were there.  They were each much more skilled than she at any sort of diplomacy or peacemaking.  Door had always known that as a child of the House of Arch, she would be expected to bear certain responsibilities.  She just wasn’t prepared to do it so soon.  At least it would be good practice, smoothing out the ruffled feathers and upset feeling between the two recent arrivals.  Door didn’t really know what to expect from Sherlock, he had barely spoken or even acknowledged her since his arrival.  The fact that the Marquis didn’t seem to like him could either go for or against him.  When she returned to the dining room, she found Sherlock seated in a chair, eyes closed and fingers pressed together as if in prayer.  Door strongly suspected that this man was not the praying sort.  He didn’t react to her return, so Door took a deep breath and jumped in.

“Hello, I was thinking maybe we could talk a little bit?  I know something about your friend Molly, but I’d like to learn a little more about you, Sherlock,” she said.

Sherlock remained still.  After a lengthy pause, he murmured, “She’s not my friend.”

Door raised her eyebrows.  “Are you sure?  She did introduce you as her friend, and it’s hard to imagine she would have brought some stranger along with her.  So you’re just some random passerby?” she asked.

Sherlock waited, hoping she would give up and leave.  He knew it was useless, he had already realized that she was a stubborn sort.  Sherlock sighed, and raised his head.  He studied Door for a moment, but for once, kept his deductions to himself.  Then he spoke, “Molly has known me for several years.  She has helped me with my work in the past.  My greatest enemy tried to attack me and hurt people who are important to me, and I asked Molly to help me prevent this by faking my death.  Molly helped me accomplish that, she thought that she was helping me by bringing me here.  I was ungrateful and rude to her.  I have hurt her many times in the past, and do not think she will accept any sort of apology.”

Door thought for a moment.  “These people who are important to you, Molly wasn’t one of them?” she asked.

“My enemy did not believe her to be so.  I myself have consistently undervalued her,” he replied.  Sherlock stood then and walked away, head bowed.  He continued, “It is likely better that I allow her to continue on her own.  I do not have friends.  I am better off alone.  She will be better off without me.”

“You know, I used to feel much the same way, actually,” Door said. 

Sherlock snorted in irritation.  “Is this where you tell me a heartbreaking story that will convince me to change my foolhardy ways?  Because I’d rather you didn’t,” sneered Sherlock.

“Actually, yes it is, and since this is my home and you’re my guest, you can shut the hell up and listen before I dump your ass in the nearest sewer” smiled Door.

Sherlock cocked his head, but remained silent.

“Right then. Here in London Below, well it’s not really the sort of place for friends.  And I was like everyone else, I had allies and business arraignments, but no real friends.  When my family was killed, I was scared and alone.  The murderers were chasing me and I was badly wounded.  I was able to escape them, and a stranger from London Above found me.  Richard.  He could have just passed by, and no one would have judged him.  He could have sent me to the hospital, and still been thought of as a hero, but I begged him not to.  He carried me back to his flat, leaving his fiancé behind, all because I needed help.  He patched me up, and I asked him to help me some more, by getting ahold of the Marquis.  I knew I was ruining his life, that he would be shoved out of his safe existence and into the mess of London Below, but I still did it.  And then I left him.”  She grimaced as she remembered the whole awful experience, the guilt she had felt at ruining Richard’s life.

Door walked closer to Sherlock.  She stood right in front of him, looking him directly in the eyes.  “Richard caught up to me, he was furious, helping me destroyed his life.  I was sorry, but my own life was still in danger.  He came along with me, despite the danger.  He helped me many more times and we saved each other’s lives a few times. When it was all over, he just wanted to get back to his old life.  In the end, I helped him go back, because that’s what he wanted.  I told myself it would be better that way, but it was a lie.  I miss him.  Maybe it’s selfish, but I miss having a real friend.  I never thought I would ever trust someone so completely, or that anyone would trust me like that.  It’s a rare thing.  I hope he comes back.”

Door sighed. “You still have a chance, don’t be an idiot.  Molly will find someone to support and help.  Would you rather it be you or the Marquis?” she asked.

Sherlock reeled back as if she had struck him.  He bowed his head once more.  “What if she won’t forgive me?  I don’t deserve any more of her help,” he muttered.

Door smiled.  “Most of us don’t deserve the sacrifices others make for us.  If she asked for your help, you’d do it, right?”  He nodded.  “That’s all you have to do, that and be grateful for everything she does for you.  Go and talk to her.  Be honest and try to be better.  She cares for you quite a bit; I think she’ll forgive you.  Come on, before the Marquis convinces her to help with another crazy scheme.”

Sherlock allowed Door to lead him from the dining room.  They walked slowly down the hall towards the courtyard doors.  He had no idea how to repair things, but he needed to try.

Molly was enchanted by the courtyard.  She was stunned to see how many stars she could see.  It didn’t make any sense, she knew they were deep underground, and yet the warm breezes and stars were definitely real.  Flowers bloomed in the darkness and tiny pink roses climbed up the stone walls.  The fragrance of the flowers was strong, some had been crushed recently.  She followed the path of destruction till she found the Marquis.  He was shuffling a deck of cards, making them leap between his hands and perform other minor tricks.  She sat next to him on the stone bench.  He cleared his throat, and sat up a bit taller.

“Well, now you’ve seen what remains from my last adventure.  I was warned that the life would return to my body, but the damage would remain.  I grow weary of waiting for everything to heal,” he explained.

“Tell me what happened to you, please?” asked Molly.

The Marquis de Carabas sighed, “I’d really rather not, but no time like the present, eh? Door asked me to help protect her and find out who killed her family.  She offered me a really big favor in return, and well, I couldn’t resist.  I reasoned that the responsible monsters, a Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar, be glad you’ll never have to meet them, would be more talkative around a corpse.  I got the information I wanted, they got to torture me and it all played out marvelously.  I did mention that Deathseer’s are rare, did I not?  Well, clearly they did not anticipate that I would have hidden my life.  I did enjoy surprising them when I came back.  Their employer, another charming individual you won’t have the misfortune of meeting, happened to be a deranged angel determined to use Door to barge his way back into heaven.  Myself, Door and an irritating Upworlder named Richard were able to defeat the three, Door sent them all packing to places unknown, we each licked our wounds and then Richard buggered off back to his life in London Above.  The end.” The Marquis stood and presented her with a mocking bow at the conclusion of his story.

Molly bit her lip, the reached out to touch his arm.  “Can I see your wounds?  I think I can help heal them, if you’ll let me,” she said.

The Marquis stepped back, turning away and thinking for a moment.  He circled around the bench, kneeling on Molly’s other side.  He smirked at her. “This isn’t just some attempt at getting me out of my clothes, now is it?  Because you only ever had to ask Molly” he drawled.

Molly blushed and swatted him on his arm.  “Don’t be so obnoxious, I’m trying to help you!  You told me Deathseers could heal, and I tried it,” she paused.  “I tried it on Sherlock; the bastard jumped off a building and was dying.  I stopped it.  I think if I stitched up that gash in your neck, I might be able to fix it.”

“When did you heal Sherlock?” asked the Marquis.

Molly thought for a moment, she had no reference for the time of day anymore.  “Maybe a day ago” she guessed.

The Marquis stood.  “Impressive.  I’m astounded you’re still awake.  To heal someone like that is supposed to be exhausting.  No wonder you passed out on our stroll from London Above.  Well, I do intend to take you up on the offer, but sometime later, when you’ve gained back some strength.”

He studied her for a moment.  Molly really was very interesting, there was much more to her than most would ever recognize.  He thought back to his long ago plans of using her talent to gain power and influence.  She would need some sort of skill to survive in London Below, why not use the one she had?  He could help set her up, screen parties interested in her particular gift and show her the ins and outs of dealing with the various and sundry rabble that made up London Below society.   It wasn’t really his nature to be such a helpful fellow, but he knew such an alliance could bring him tidy profits.  Of course, she would be grateful as well.  Perhaps some time in the future, he would consider having another egg made to contain his life.  He pondered how to properly present these ideas when he was interrupted by Door.

“De Carabas?  Will you come back into the dining room with me?  Please?” she asked.

He narrowed his eyes at her.  She was up to something.  The Marquis picked up Molly’s hand and kissed it, then bowed.  He walked towards Door and hissed, “What the hell do you want?  I’m busy.”

Door practically shoved him back inside, then closed the French doors.  With a twist of her hand, she locked them, cutting the courtyard off from the rest of the house temporarily.  “Her friend Sherlock needed to speak with her, I thought it best to give them privacy,” Door explained.

The Marquis tried to dodge past her and open the door.  Realizing it could only be opened by an opener, he swore, “Damn it, what did you go and do that for!”  He tried to pound on the glass, but Door stopped him. 

“Leave them be, de Carabas, he at least should get a chance to say he’s sorry” she said.

The Marquis sulked.  “He’s an idiot, he has no idea what she can do, what she has already given him. He doesn’t deserve her.”

“And you do?  Come on, you just want to use her for some scheme, I know you.  Besides, if he’s such an idiot, you can go and try again when he makes a hash of it” replied Door.  She turned him around and marched him back through the dining room.


	11. Chapter Ten

Sherlock waited while Door left with the Marquis.  He examined the quiet courtyard.  He wondered how she had created such a sophisticated illusion of nighttime, but was forced to admit that it was too good to be an illusion.  Begrudgingly, he was accepting that in whatever this place was, once the impossible had been eliminated, what remained was quite improbable and also the truth.  He hated being right sometimes.  He stepped deeper into the garden, following a stone path.  Molly was exploring more of the courtyard.  She had wandered away from the bench and found a small stone fountain.  Goldfish were swimming in the round pool.  She sat on the stones that circled the water and trailed her fingers in the water.  When she looked up, Sherlock was standing next to her.

“Go away” she sighed.

“Molly, please, I must speak with you” he asked.

She stared at him, unflinching.  She wiped her hands and stood up, never breaking eye contact. “You and I have nothing to discuss” she said quietly.  She started to walk past him, but he was too quick, and blocked her path.  She reached up to slap him once more, but this time he was prepared, and grabbed her hand before she could make contact.

Molly burst into tears once more.  Never before had she cried so much as the past two days.  It was getting very annoying; she swore she would stop crying over Sherlock.  She pulled herself together and began shouting.  “Why won’t you leave me alone?  Stop tormenting me!  I’m tired of being used, just leave me be” she yelled.

“Wait, Molly, I’m sorry.  I have behaved cruelly and I apologize for the things I said.  I told you that you do count, and I meant it.  You saved my life, even when I begged you not to.  You’ve always helped me no matter how awful I was” he said.  Sherlock paused and swallowed. He looked at her, and then reached out and held her hands.  Molly gasped and closed her eyes.

“I don’t understand much of what has happened since I left your lab to go to the roof of St. Bart’s.  I hate feeling this uncertainty, it frightens me and I have no idea how to deal with fear or any other emotion.  I taught myself not to respond to emotions and that I was better off without friends of any kind.  Now I am forced to reevaluate these beliefs, and I need your help.  Please Molly, you’ve always seen something in me that I didn’t believe to be there.  I’m sorry Molly, for everything.  Please don’t leave me now” he whispered.

Tears dripped and slid across Molly’s face.  Sherlock reached out his hand, unsure.  He brushed the tears away and laid his palm against her cheek.  She reached up her hand and held his hand.  She sighed, and then opened her eyes to look at him.  He took a small step nearer to her, and then cautiously wrapped his other arm around her.  She allowed him to pull her closer.  They stood together in an awkward embrace for a moment, before she pulled away, sniffling and wiping her eyes on her sleeves.  She hugged herself and shivered. “Okay, Sherlock, it’s alright” she murmured.

Sherlock breathed out and then smiled. “Thank you Molly” he said.  Unsure what to do next; he fiddled with the buttons on his shirt cuff.  Molly was still half turned away from him, thinking. The fountain burbled softly behind them.

Molly turned, stood up taller, and looked deep into his eyes. She tried to make her face look as stern as possible. “But things are going to change.  I mean it.  I will help you as best I can, but we have to work together, be partners.  No more fake flattery or vicious deductions.  I understand you prefer to be left alone, just ask me to go somewhere else instead of shouting mean things at me.  I may not be a genius, but I’m not an idiot and I don’t want to be called one” she said resolutely. 

Sherlock nodded.  “I will do my best, Molly.  It will be difficult for me to overcome a lifetime of bad habits.  Be patient with me,” he paused.  “Please” he finished.  Once more, honest vulnerability shone from his features.  Molly knew it was hopeless. 

She smiled “I’ve always been patient with you, or haven’t you noticed?  Let’s go back inside, I’m getting cold.”

They walked back toward the French doors side by side.  Molly opened the doors and led the way back into the dining room.  The Marquis was seated at the table, feet propped up once again on the table top. Door was kneeling on top of the table, brandishing a knife.  A massive chocolate cake had been served and Door was just cutting a large slice.  Sherlock had rather hoped she was about to skewer the Marquis, even though he knew it was unlikely. As they walked in, the Marquis glanced up at the returning pair and was deeply annoyed by what he saw.  Molly and Sherlock were walking side by side, clearly they had reconciled.  The Marquis nearly groaned out loud.  If pressed, he would have to admit he had no actual reason for disliking Sherlock so much. There was just something deeply irritating about the man.  The Marquis stood and stomped out of the room rather than have to suffer through further indignities.  Door waved Molly and Sherlock over and began to cut more slices of cake. 

 “Ignore him, he’s being a pain.  Here, try some of this cake, it’s delicious, it’s my sister’s favorite” said Door.

Molly enthusiastically dug into the slice of cake she was offered.  Sherlock waved a piece away.  Door shrugged, and then began to devour her slice.  While she was inhaling the cake, Sherlock leaned forward.  “If you wouldn’t mind, Door, I’d like to hear more about your family,” he said.

Molly frowned at him, but Door spoke up.  “Um okay, but why do you ask?” she said.

“I am a detective, I solve crimes.  You said your family was killed.  Perhaps I can offer some assistance in solving what happened and why.  Especially since you believe your sister to still be alive.” Sherlock explained

Door stared at him, mouth open, cake forgotten.  Molly sighed and reached out to pat her host’s hand.  “He does this all the time, actually, usually it’s much, much worse.  I was starting to worry, Sherlock.  You must be feeling more comfortable if you’re sharing your deductions again.” Molly said.

“Indeed Molly, if this London Below is to be our new home, better that I resume plying my trade sooner rather than later.  Besides, I would like to repay Door’s generosity by helping her” said Sherlock.

Door looked at her hands, silent for a moment.  “I came home and found my parents and my brother, Arch, they were all slaughtered.  I couldn’t find my sister, Ingress, she’s only six.  The killers, they were still around, I ran.  I sort of assumed they killed her too, but then, at the end of it all, Islington, he was the one behind it all, he said she was still alive.  I had just opened a door to some other dimension or something, and he was being sucked inside, so it might have been just a ploy to get me to, you know, stop ending his existence”

 “Then what happened?” asked Sherlock.

“I didn’t really feel like considering his request. I probably couldn’t have stopped it at that point if I wanted to anyway.  He got sucked away, along with the evil pair that killed de Carabas.  I was in bad shape for a while, but as soon as I got better, I tried to figure out what happened to my sister, but I haven’t really had much luck,” finished Door.  As soon as she stopped speaking, fat teardrops began to roll down her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s just, um, I really miss them and I haven’t really gotten a lot of chances to just be sad about it.”  Door hugged her legs, oblivious to the fact that she was smearing chocolate across the layers of her unusual ensemble.

Molly yawned, unable to stop herself. “Oh god, I’m sorry Door, I’m just really worn out.  I’m sorry to hear about your family.  But, the good news is if anyone can find out what happened to Ingress, Sherlock can, he’s really brilliant” she said.  She suddenly realized she was gushing, and stopped, embarrassed. 

Sherlock looked pleased by Molly’s vote of confidence.  With a case to investigate, he felt a bit more self-assured.  Besides, if London Below was as full of weirdness and evil as everyone seemed to insist, there would surely be many more cases.  This thought made Sherlock actually smile.  He was busy thinking about the sorts of hideous crimes that would be generated in this bizarre underworld when he noticed Molly and Door were staring at him.

“Hm? What?”

“We were just saying that we think it’s time to get some sleep and get back to crime solving after we’re all refreshed,” explained Molly.

“I don’t intend to sleep, it’s a waste of time,” complained Sherlock.

“That’s your problem, I’m exhausted.  C’mon Molly, Sherlock you might as well come too, unless you plan to sit here with the cake all night” said Door.  With that, she jumped down from the table and grabbed their hands firmly.  She swiftly took them all back to the guest suite and bade her two newest houseguests good-night.

Now that she was standing in the guest suite, alone with Sherlock, Molly was suddenly overcome by her typical shyness.  Before she could get too flustered, she marched away from him, toward the bedroom.  She tried to close the door, but was stopped by Sherlock who had followed right behind her.  Molly had been about to pull the dress over her head and shrieked when she realized how close Sherlock was behind her.

“Sherlock! What are you doing!  I’m trying to get changed and go to bed!” squealed Molly.

But Sherlock didn’t respond, just kept walking across the room, examining its every feature.  He continued on into the bathroom and was closely studying it when Molly tried again.

“Sherlock! I want to go to sleep!”

“Hmm?  Boring.  Please, don’t allow me to stop you” he said with a wave of his hand.

“Well, will you please go away so I can change?” begged Molly

“Oh.  Fine.  Is this room the same size as the other bedroom?”

“What?  I guess so, I didn’t exactly measure them.”

“Very well. Good night Molly Hooper.”

“Good night.”

Sherlock finally left, and Molly locked the door after him.  It wouldn’t stop him, but if he tried to come back in, at least she would have some warning.  She quickly took off the red dress and changed into a nightgown she had found in the wardrobe earlier.  She buried herself under the thick blankets and was nearly asleep when she heard the doorknob shaking.  For a brief moment, she was confused and afraid, but then,

“Molly?  Why did you lock this door Molly?  I need you Molly,” whined a familiar voice.

Molly groaned and slid out of her warm nest of blankets.  She walked over to the door, where she could hear Sherlock trying to pick the lock.  She threw the door open, exposing a shirtless Sherlock, armed with several random metal objects.

“Why are you trying to break into my room?” she mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.  She was too groggy to properly enjoy the sight of a shirtless Sherlock.

“Why did you lock the door?”

Molly yawned.  “Because, based on your morgue visiting habits, I suspected you wouldn’t leave me to sleep in peace.”

“Sleeping is dull, Molly.  Besides, I need your help” begged Sherlock.  He was bouncing on his toes, filled with extra energy.

“What?”

Sherlock pushed his way past Molly and began rifling through the bags Molly had packed.  Then he dumped them out entirely, and sifted the items apart with his toes.

“You’ve only brought your clothes.  Where are my clothes?  You’ve failed to bring my violin or phone, Molly.”  Sherlock continued sorting through the pile, pausing to contemplate a pair of Molly’s knickers.  Molly tried to grab them, but he tossed them aside to study something else.  

“Sherlock, you can’t be serious.  Remember I only packed things from my flat, I wasn’t exactly able to pop over to Baker Street and grab your things, let alone your violin” sighed Molly.

“Well that was rather neglectful.  But my phone Molly, where is it?” complained Sherlock.

She had been dreading this part.  Molly had learned years ago, as part of a lesson from the Marquis, that electronic devices didn’t work in London Below.  Regardless of the fact that he had no one to call or text, she knew Sherlock would want his phone.  She had never seen him without it.  Actually, she didn’t even know what had happened to it. She knew Sherlock took it when he left for the rooftop, but hadn’t seen it, or even thought about it since then. 

“Um, I don’t know, what did you do with it?” she tried.

“Honestly, Molly if I knew that, why would I be asking you?” Sherlock sniped.

“I don’t know.  Listen, I know this will be a bit of a shock, but I’m pretty sure electronic devices don’t work down here.”

Silence.  Sherlock was stunned.  He recovered quickly though.

“Hmph. Still no excuse for the violin though,” he sulked.

“Sherlock, is there something you actually needed? Because I was nearly asleep” she pleaded.

“Yes! Clothing, my phone and my violin!  Also, there is nothing on the other side of the windows in these rooms.  Just blackness.  Do you think Door would mind terribly if I broke a window to investigate what is on the other side?”

Molly groaned.  No wonder John Watson always looked exhausted. 

“No, absolutely do not break any windows, it’s usually a bad idea to break things when visiting, people tend to dislike that.  Just wait till morning and ask Door what’s on the other side of the windows then, okay?”

“Hmm, fine. I’ll have you know Molly that I am really trying, because in the past I would have just broken the windows without asking.  Lest you forget, I am still bereft of clothing, my violin and my phone though” continued Sherlock.

Molly took him by the hand and dragged him into the other bedroom.  She pointed at the wardrobe and said, “Check in there, Door said there are extra clothes inside.  We’ll figure out something about the violin tomorrow, and I’m sorry but I think your texting days may be over.”

Sherlock had already thrown open the wardrobe doors and had begun to throw clothes out.  He turned and frowned at Molly.  “I refuse to accept that.  I may be a fraud and dead to the world above, hunted by a magical madman and forced to live in some underground fairyland, but I will not stop texting.”

Molly groaned again, “Goodnight, I am going to sleep, go build yourself a phone out of coconuts or something and let me sleep.”

“Coconuts?  What coconuts?  Don’t be absurd.”

“It’s from Gilligan’s island, Sherlock, remember, it was a TV show, you know, they were trapped on that island and always building TV sets and such out of coconuts.”

“Oh.  Is that the sort of thing you people do?  Watch TV shows about idiots and coconuts?” Sherlock asked.

“Ugh, yes, idiots like myself and my father watch crap like that, good night, I mean it, don’t bother me unless it’s breakfast time.”  With that, Molly stomped back to the other bedroom and locked the door, again.  On her way to the bed, she tripped over a flashlight Sherlock had left in the middle of the floor, stubbing her toe.  Swearing, she buried herself under the covers once more.  Clearly she had been going about things all wrong for years.  If she wanted to get over her crush on Sherlock, she should have tried living with him.


	12. Chapter Eleven

For whatever reason, Sherlock stopped bothering Molly and she actually got a good bit of rest.  When she awoke, she felt ready to start working on the big problems.  Or at least figure out what all the problems they faced were.  There certainly were a lot of them.  They needed to figure out if Jim Moriarty was a Deathseer and if he had any connection to London Below.  That of course opened up a whole new box of problems, such as how to stop Jim Moriarty if he has some sort of malevolent magic on his side?  And there was always the pressing concern, even if we can defeat him, how do we get back to our normal lives? 

Those were just some of the big problems.  The little ones were far more numerous and just as troubling.  Questions like, will Door let us stay here indefinitely, because where will we live otherwise?  What are we going to eat?  Does London Below have any openings for a slightly used pathologist?  What about a condescending consulting detective, need any of those?  Will the Marquis and Sherlock end up killing each other?  How in the hell will I convince Sherlock that he doesn’t need his violin?  There was certainly a lot to ponder.  Molly decided to get dressed in something sensible and seek out breakfast or at the very least tea before devoting any more time thinking.

Sherlock was sitting in his usual thinking pose in an armchair when Molly left the bedroom.  He had apparently gone through the contents of the other bedroom’s wardrobe and chosen new clothing.  Currently he was wearing loose black trousers and a simple white linen shirt.  He looked a bit like a pirate on his day off.  Molly was dismayed that he still looked, well, delicious.  He glanced up at Molly then gestured toward the fireplace.  “The kettle’s just boiled, fix the tea … please.”

Molly found the rest of the tea supplies on a table near the fireplace and set about preparing two cups of tea.  She already knew how Sherlock took his tea, thanks to years of being bossed around in her own morgue.  When everything was ready, she handed him his tea and then sat down in the other chair with hers.  They sat and drank in silence.  Molly tried to think of something to talk about, but gave up.  Sherlock usually just sneered at her attempts at conversation anyway.  Surprisingly, it was Sherlock who began to speak first.  “I have devoted some thought to procuring my violin.  If, as you say, we do not exist to regular Londoners, it will be no trouble to simply enter my flat and remove some of my possessions.  We can take care of it when I am finished interviewing Door” he stated.

“Oh, um, maybe, I guess.  You seem to have accepted what I was trying to tell you about London Below yesterday, that’s good” Molly stammered.

“I have had some time to consider the facts of the situation and come to the inevitable conclusion that things are just as you say.  I admit I did consider some more fanciful explanations, such as my truly being deceased, or possibly severely brain injured.”

“Really?” Molly giggled “That must have been … interesting, what was that like?”

Sherlock smiled, warming to his topic.  “I have long considered the notion of life after death to be a mere relict of prehistoric ignorance.  However, I had to concede that after jumping off the roof, I have experienced numerous inexplicable incidents.  I had to consider that a supernatural explanation such as heaven was a possibility.  Of course, I rejected that this is heaven, should I ever enter paradise, I expect my violin and phone to be more readily accessible.  The presence of the Marquis and numerous other irritants suggests this is hell.  However, I also rejected that notion, mainly due to your presence.”

Molly was startled by this. “Huh?” she asked.

“Molly.  Why would you be in hell?  I reasoned that your being here suggested that at worse, this could be a sort of purgatory, perhaps with you serving as my Beatrice.  However, I still refuse to accept the concept of life after death without further data.  I have chosen instead to accept the fact that the simplest explanation is often best, and things are exactly as you first described them to me” explained Sherlock.

Molly could feel herself blush.  Damn it, why did Sherlock always do that to her?  She was saved from speaking by the appearance of Door.

“Morning, or, um actually it’s afternoon, but anyway, I’m hungry, do you two want to come join me?” yawned Door.

Molly leapt up from her seat and rushed over to Door.  Sherlock followed at a bit more leisurely pace.  “While I have minimal interest in eating, I would like to learn more about the disappearance of your sister in order to set about locating her” said Sherlock.

Door nodded, then took Molly and Sherlock’s hand, then reached out to touch the door of the guest suite.

_The entry hall is filled with people, all in bright and brilliant dress.  A small quartet of musicians is playing a lively tune and many couples are dancing.  Standing in a corner, the Marquis de Carabas is sipping wine from a crystal goblet.  Some of the couples that dance past him grimace when they notice him watching.  He merely smiles._

“So, I don’t think I told you this, but from this entry way, you can reach some of the rooms without needing me to actually be there.  Um, my grandfather set it up so openers can make certain rooms connect or be closed off.  Right now from here you can just walk into the dining room and the back courtyard,” Door explained.

She continued, “I brought some stuff for breakfast in here, it’s a little less stuffy than the dining room.”

They sat down at one of the tables in the room.  There were several small round tables and one long banqueting table in the entry hall.  There were also assorted chairs and sofas in conversational groupings.  When Molly sat down, she noticed the Marquis lying on one of the more ornate settees.  She wondered if he was going to eat, but then remembered the incident at last night’s meal and decided not to ask.  Door liberally buttered some rolls and ate them.  Sherlock actually poured himself some coffee and ate some of the fruit from Molly’s plate when he thought she wasn’t looking.  Door and Sherlock began discussing her family’s murders.  The details were gruesome.  Molly wandered away to speak with the Marquis.  As she approached, he greeted her without opening his eyes.  “And how was your evening, dear Molly?  It would have been far better had you spent it with me instead of your gangly acquaintance” he drawled.

Molly rolled her eyes as the Marquis languidly sat up.  “And a good morning to you too.  Actually I was hoping you’d let me see your wounds and let me try to heal them.”

The Marquis stared at her for a moment, thinking, head tilted.  He looked back towards where Sherlock and Door were still deep in discussion.  Finally, he nodded, and unwrapped the lace he had bound around his neck.  Molly tried not to wince; it was an awful gash across his neck.  She reached out to touch it, but stopped, waiting for permission.  The Marquis sighed and nodded again.  Molly tilted his head back and examined the cut.  It was long, nearly from ear to ear.  And it was deep.  Somehow his vocal cords had not been seriously damaged, a minor miracle.  Molly could see some evidence of healing, but it was plain that there was a long way to go.  This sort of injury was one the body rarely got a chance to heal.  Molly thought that the best option was likely to suture the gash, and then try to heal it using her Deathseer ability.  Hopefully that would actually heal the injury quickly and without a truly horrible scar.  Molly knew there were more injuries.  She had seen them inflicted in her visions.  She took a deep breath first.  “Um, I know there are more wounds, may I see them also?” she whispered.

The Marquis kept his face blank as he nodded then removed his shirt.  Once more, Molly tried, as best she could, to also keep her face expressionless.  His entire chest was covered with a multitude of cuts.  It was obvious that many weapons had been used to create the variety of wounds.  Each gash was different.  A strange dark part of Molly’s mind thought that his chest would be a wonderful teaching tool for demonstrating how various weapons created different looking wounds.  Pathologists and forensic scientists in training could learn a lot.  Years in the morgue had gifted Molly with quite a dark sense of humor sometimes.  She studied each wound carefully and decided that most needed suturing.  She wondered if she had enough thread.  She was a little worried about infection, but there wasn’t much she could do about that beyond washing up.  She made eye contact with the Marquis before beginning to speak again.

“Okay, um, well it’s a lot, but I would like to try stitching your wounds, then trying to heal you.  What do you think?” she asked nervously, rubbing her hands.

The Marquis sighed and nodded his head.  Molly looked around, Door was just returning to the entry hall.  She handed something to Sherlock, then noticed Molly looking at her and came over.  Molly quietly explained her plan and told Door what she needed.  Door nodded and the two women left to seek out the needed supplies.

The Marquis looked across the room and studied Sherlock. He was still mostly a mystery to the Marquis.   It was clear that Sherlock had also raided the wardrobes, but his ensemble was far too plain for the Marquis’ taste.  What was the point of dressing if one didn’t do it with flair?  The Marquis was a little curious about the whereabouts of the other man’s coat.  It was a very nice coat, though the Marquis was sure it didn’t have quite the same properties that his did.  Sherlock looked up and noticed the Marquis staring.  Both men scowled and turned away from each other.  It was nearly a half an hour before Door and Molly returned.  Molly immediately approached the Marquis.

“So, I’ve asked Door and I think that this room will actually be the best for this, it has the best light” Molly said.  She took the Marquis by the hand and led him to the long banqueting table.

“If you just lie down on this, it will be easier for me to stitch you up.  Um, this will hurt; do you want anything for pain?  Door said she might have some stuff that would help…..” Molly said.

“No, thank you.”  With that, the Marquis elegantly slid onto the table and lay down after making a pillow out of his shirt.  Molly set about organizing her supplies.  She carefully washed her hands in a basin, and then began washing off the Marquis’ chest.  She couldn’t help but notice that Marquis had a rather nice chest.  Since he previously always wore his massive coat, it had been difficult to determine what his actual body was like.  In fact it was pleasingly muscled and broad.  Molly realized she had been staring when the Marquis smirked and said “Admiring the view?”

She felt the blush creeping across her face and frowned.  She smacked him lightly on his arm. Damn him and his ceaseless flirting.  The Marquis chuckled softly.  Molly threaded her needles and began with the gash at his neck.  She went slowly.  She wasn’t used to giving stiches to bodies that still breathed.  She made each stitch neat and carefully, like always.  The neck didn’t take long and she moved on to the chest wounds.  This was trickier.  Every wound was different and required an individual approach.  Molly concentrated on the task at hand, Sherlock and Door’s voices reduced to murmurs.  After several hours, she was finished. 

Molly took a quick break, eating and drinking something before returning to the Marquis.  He had chosen to remain lying on the table, eyes closed.  Molly approached him.  “Okay, I need to put my hands on you, and well, … it worked when I had to do it to Sherlock.  I really am trying my best” she said, voice starting to waver.

The Marquis, eyes still closed, muttered, “Molly, you can’t make it any worse.”

She closed her eyes, and then placed her hands on his chest.  The whole time she had been sewing his wounds shut, she had struggled to keep her sense of death at bay.  She needed to keep it suppressed; otherwise she would start seeing the torture and death he had suffered.  Now she opened herself up, and allowed her sense of death to return fully.  Molly gasped as it rushed through her.  Her hands felt warm.  She concentrated on the Marquis, pushing away the torturous visions and seeking out his death.  The blackness of his death was curled inside him.  Molly began to focus on shoving the blackness away.  It fought back, clinging to his wounds.  Molly tried harder.  Sweat was pouring down her face and arms, but she didn’t notice it.  She was panting with the effort.  Slowly, she felt the tide begin to turn, the blackness was giving way, reforming on the outside of his body.  With one last deep breath, she gave a final push.  She opened her eyes to see the Marquis looking at her with astonishment.  She smiled at him.  Then her eyes rolled back and she passed out cold.

Sherlock had been on the other side of the room for much of the time Molly was working on the Marquis. He was trying to keep a close eye on them without being obvious.  He wasn’t sure why, but every time he saw the two of them together, he began to grind his teeth.  He would have liked to lock the damnable Marquis in the little courtyard and leave him there forever.  He was irritated by how fond Molly seemed to be of him.  Honestly, why did she have such an attraction to the criminally insane? 

Sherlock had been questioning Door for most of the morning.  Primarily about the killing of her family and her subsequent failed attempts to locate her sister.  He was also interested in how traveling from one room to another caused memories to be revealed.  They had discovered, somewhat to both of their surprise, that Sherlock was able to access these memories by touching the walls.  No one had ever been able to do that previously.  Primarily he was able to see memories related to the slaughter of Portico and his family.  Door reasoned that the House without Doors was equally eager to locate its lost inhabitant, and thus willing to offer what help it could. 

Sherlock had been reviewing the memories the House had shared when he saw Molly faint.  He ran towards her, but of course, the Marquis was able to smoothly rise from the table and catch her in one motion.  Once Molly was in his arms, the Marquis carried her over to a nearby sofa and gently laid her down.  He had dragged a chair next to her and was already seated by the time Sherlock made it to Molly’s side.  Sherlock scowled and demanded “What have you done to her now?”

The Marquis ignored him, and lightly stroked Molly’s hand.  He quickly examined his injuries.  Most of them were in fact, now nearly healed.  Door came close behind Sherlock and gasped when she saw the Marquis.

“Temple and Arch! De Carabas, how in the hell? Your throat!” she exclaimed.

Molly was stirring a little now.  Her eyes fluttered and she looked up with confusion.  She focused on Sherlock first.  “W-Where am I?  Sherlock?”

The Marquis answered her, “You’re here with me, in the House without Doors.  You did it Molly.”

Molly looked at the Marquis, and then tried to sit up.  She moved too quickly and closed her eyes and fell back again, moaning.  “I did?  It worked?” she asked weakly.

The Marquis wiped the sweat from her forehead and whispered “Yes.”  Molly smiled, and then moaned again, clutching her head.

Door glanced at Sherlock and noticed the annoyed look on his face.  He quickly composed a blank look on his face, and then walked away, back toward the walls.  Door noticed that Molly was watching him go.  Door sighed and looked back toward Molly.  She was trying to sit up again, a bit slower this time.  Once she was sitting up, she closed her eyes for a moment, and then began examining the Marquis more closely.  Her mouth opened in wonder as she checked every wound.  Some of the smaller ones had healed completely.  The larger wounds had improved greatly.  Molly couldn’t believe how successful she had been.  His death now resembled most other people’s, albeit still a little strange.   She beamed at the Marquis and Door.  The she tried to stand, but nearly passed out again. 

“Molly, you need to rest, what you have done is amazing, your power is remarkable” said the Marquis, kissing her sweetly on the lips.  Molly felt dizzy all over again. 

Sherlock loomed over them.  “Yes, I think a rest is exactly what she needs” he snapped, enunciating each word precisely.   Before Molly could protest, Sherlock scooped her up from the sofa and marched back towards the painting of the guest suite.  “Door, if you would be so kind,” he asked.

“Sherlock!  Wait, I still need to check his stitches!  I’m fine” protested Molly.  She weakly kicked her legs, trying to get down from Sherlock’s grasp.

Sherlock ignored her, and just looked pointedly at Door.  She shrugged and came over to the pair, grabbing Sherlock’s elbow and leading them back to their rooms.

_A man is seated at the desk in the guest suite.  He is reading through papers, turning them angrily.  He shoves some off the table then rests his head in his hands.  A woman is seated in an armchair by the fireplace. She hears him sigh and walks over to him.  She whispers something in his ear and kisses his cheek softly.  He smiles back at her._

As soon as they reached the guest suite, Sherlock marched toward Molly’s bedroom.  Door followed.  Molly continued to protest, to no avail.  Sherlock sat Molly down on her bed and turned and left without saying anything, slamming the door as he left.  Door looked questioningly at Molly, who groaned and fell back on the bed.

“So, um, he’s your friend, right?” asked Door.

Molly grabbed a pillow and covered her head, groaning again.  She answered from underneath the pillow.  “Sort of, barely, Sherlock doesn’t have friends, at least that’s what he claims” she explained.

“Yeah, he told me something similar last night.  But … um, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna punch the Marquis if he kisses you again,” said Door.

Molly groaned once more.  Door removed the pillow from her face and looked at Molly with raised eyebrows.  “Okay, I’ve had the biggest, stupidest crush of all time on Sherlock and more than once he’s made it clear he has no interest.  He doesn’t have relationships, or feelings for that matter.  I mean I know he does have emotions, but it would likely take severe torture to force him admit it” Molly said.

“Ah.  Well, the Marquis can be torturous when he wants to be, perhaps their forced interaction will bring something out in your friend,” giggled Door.

Molly smiled and then tried to stand.  She needed Door’s help to get fully upright.  “Okay, well I guess I better rest, given that I can’t stand on my own. Could you help me take my shoes off?  I don’t think I can do it without fainting again,” Molly asked.

Door helped Molly change into the nightgown.  After Molly was safely in bed, Door left the room.  She thought that Sherlock would be waiting for her in the sitting room, but he was nowhere to be seen.  The door to the other bedroom was now closed.  Door shrugged and then returned to the entry hall.

The Marquis had redressed and was sitting at the table calmly drinking a cup of tea.  He had left off the lace collar her had worn to hide his slit throat.  Door sat down across from him and poured herself a cup.  “So, that was … interesting … How do you feel?” asked Door.

“Much better actually, thank you for asking” answered the Marquis primly.  He picked up a small tea cake and nibbled it.

“So … now what?” asked Door.

The Marquis finished his tea cake and took a sip of tea.  He delicately brushed crumbs from his mouth and carefully replaced his tea cup. “Right now I intend to finish my tea.  Beyond that I have no firm plans,” answered the Marquis.

Door decided to try a different approach.  She steeled herself before asking, “So what’s going on between you and Molly?”

The Marquis raised his eyebrows and smirked.  “Going on?  We have had an ongoing business relationship.  She has repaid my assistance by helping to accelerate the healing of my wounds.  Perhaps in the future we will resume negotiations and conduct another transaction.”

“Don’t be so obtuse.   You know what I mean, you kissed her.  What’s that all about?  I mean, I sort of assumed you weren’t interested in, um ….” Door made some vague gestures as she searched for the right words.

The Marquis snorted. “Women?  Now who’s being obtuse?  I am not interested in relationships with individuals of any gender.  However, I do occasionally experience the need for … release, not to mention pleasure.”  He held the tea cup in his hand, delicately spinning it while studying it.

“Well don’t you go getting any ideas about Molly.  She’s too innocent and she doesn’t need any of your particular brand of depravity.  Besides, she’s in love with Sherlock, so just behave yourself!” scolded Door.

“Humph.  Since when do I behave myself, on your orders or anyone else’s’?  I grow weary of your company, excuse me, I wish to seek amusement elsewhere.”  The Marquis stood and marched away, heading towards one of the exits.  Door watched as he let himself out, back into London Below.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Sherlock laid on the bed in what was now “his” bedroom.  He had intended to continue cataloging and sorting the information he has received about the murder of Door’s family and the disappearance of her sister.  However, he was having difficulty concentrating.  He kept returning to the image of the Marquis kissing Molly.  He clenched his fists and indulged in some fantasies of punching the man in the face, repeatedly.  This was not the first time he had had such a reaction.  He realized with a start, that every time he thought Molly was involved with another man, he became increasingly irrational.  Sherlock knew that he was a selfish man.  He hated having to share the few people he kept close to him.  What was worrying him now was the fact that Molly’s female friendships didn’t provoke such strong reactions. Molly and Door could interact without arousing such a response.  Sherlock forced these thoughts away and tried to lock them up deep within his mind palace.  He resumed focusing on Door’s lost sister.

Molly slept deeply.  She dreamed of two headed dragons chasing her.  One head spat fire and the other blood.  Strangely, she didn’t feel frightened.  She awoke, and couldn’t remember where she was at first.  The heavy fabric hangings around the bed quickly reminded her.  She stumbled toward the bathroom.  When she was finished, she felt a bit more awake and alert.  She thought back to how she had healed the Marquis.  She was astonished that it had worked as well as it had.  Then she thought back to the beautiful planes of the Marquis’ body, and of him kissing her.  She couldn’t help but blush once more.  He was an excellent kisser.  Why the hell did Sherlock always try to ruin these things?  Molly moped, it’s not like he was ever interested.  Maybe he just liked spoiling things for other people.  Molly did recall John complaining about Sherlock always sabotaging his dates, or plain scaring interested women away.  Molly sighed and left the bedroom.  Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.  Molly was actually somewhat relieved.  She didn’t feel quite up to speaking with him just yet.

After the Marquis had left, Door decided to take care of other matters around the house.  She knew the Marquis would be back after he finished sulking.  He tended to come and go when he pleased anyway.  She returned to her father’s study and resumed going through his papers.  Her father, Portico, had had a dream about uniting all of London Below.  Door wasn’t sure if it was really possible, but she was curious about his ideas.  She also kept searching for anything that might lead her to her sister.  She hated not knowing.  It was painful to think about Ingress, lost and alone, thinking all her family was dead.  Or worse, perhaps Ingress was dead, left somewhere like trash.  Door just wished she knew where her little sister was.  She had tried to search for her, asking around at the Floating Market, searching the slave traders and worse.  There had been no information, no sign of her sister.  Door had no idea what else to try.  She was somewhat cheered by the interest Sherlock had shown in her missing sister.  Door believed Molly when she had said that Sherlock was the best at solving such mysteries.  She worked through her father’s files and notes, trying to put them in some order for another few hours.  Just when she was starting to feel in need of a break, she heard someone knocking.  Her guests were summoning her.

When Sherlock left his bedroom, he was slightly startled to see Molly, sitting in an armchair, reading.  She was still wearing a nightgown and it was oddly fascinating.  The long white nightgown made her seem smaller, and childlike.  Sherlock was nearly overwhelmed with an urge to keep all others away from her.  He swallowed and walked away, toward the bookshelves. He moved some books and things around, scowling.  He paced around the desk and fiddled with the inkwell, nearly knocking it over.  He sighed dramatically then looked back at Molly.  “Molly.  In the future I would appreciate it if you didn’t expend all your energies in such a fashion.  I require your assistance and your exhaustion hinders me,” Sherlock complained.

Molly looked up, slightly started.  “You need my help, so I’m not allowed to sleep?” she asked, confused.

“No, I merely prefer you focus you energy on more important matters, primarily assisting me.”

“Sherlock, you’re not the only person on the planet, you know.  Besides, what I do and who I help is my business, not yours” scowled Molly.

 Sherlock ignored her last statement entirely and moved on to a new topic. He clasped his hands behind his back, head thrown back in his classic arrogant pose.  “I am going to ask Door to show us the rest of the house, where her family was killed to look for clues.  I am also preparing to venture out and seek new sources of information about the whereabouts of Ingress.  I suggest you change into something more appropriate if you intend to accompany us.”

It wasn’t worth trying to fight, Molly decided.  She returned to her room and changed back into clothes more suited for crime-fighting.  By the time she returned to the sitting room, Door had already arrived.  She and Sherlock were speaking quietly.  Molly approached them.  Door smiled at her and began speaking.  “So, Molly, we’re going to tour the rest of the house, Sherlock is looking for clues.  Do you want to come?  Um there might be some unpleasant memories as we go along.  We’ll start in the conservatory. Ready?”

Molly and Sherlock each took one of Door’s hands as she reached out to touch the door.  The three of them spent the next four hours going from room to room.  The memories that they were shown as they moved from room to room were indeed unpleasant.  Molly had no trouble with dead bodies, but she didn’t think she would ever grow accustomed to seeing violence being inflicted.  The murder of Door’s family had been brutal.  Croup and Vandemar had been truly terrifying, Molly was certain they would haunt her dreams.  She felt slightly better knowing they had been sucked off into some faraway dimension, but was a bit worried it wasn’t far enough away. Sherlock was relentless, always searching, or asking probing questions.  Molly could tell that Door was wearing down and that Sherlock was oblivious to that fact.  Finally, they stopped back in the entry hall.  Before Sherlock could start up again, Molly said, “Okay, well, I think I could use a little break, maybe something to eat?  Anyone else?”

Door gave her a grateful look; Sherlock gave her an incredulous glare.  “I’m getting kind of tired too, actually, how about we go see the kitchens?  There’s probably something ready to eat.  Somehow my grandfather managed to do some sort of magic and the kitchens work by themselves.  The whole house is sort of sentient, actually,” said Door.

Sherlock glowered at Molly. “Indeed. However, I am not finished.  I need to go and speak to some of the individuals you told me that you have already questioned.  Eating is a waste of time,” he spat.

“Sherlock, we need a break, all right?  Door wants to find her sister even more than you do, but none of us will be any good at anything if we’re collapsing from exhaustion and hunger,” pleaded Molly.

Sherlock stormed stiffly away from the two women.  Door shrugged and said, “I’ll be right back, I’ll just bring some stuff back, okay?  Thanks Molly.”

Door left and Molly sat down at a nearby table.  She watched Sherlock pace angrily for a while.  He was muttering to himself, stopping at times to touch the paintings on the walls. Sherlock was thinking furiously, keeping his complaints to himself.   Molly was clearly no John Watson.  John never would have stopped for something as mundane as food.  John lived for the chase as much as Sherlock did.  Thinking about his best friend only made Sherlock angrier.  He was out of his depth here.  It had taken years of careful work to build his homeless network and to gain the many other contacts and sources he had in London.  He knew London completely.  Everything he needed had been at his fingertips.  Now he was stuck somewhere weird with only Molly as an ally, no knowledge of the lay of the land and a whole host of other problems.  He hated having to rely on Door to move from room to room, worse yet, he couldn’t leave the house without someone to guide him.  Helpless, he loathed feeling so helpless.  Sherlock almost wished the idiotic Marquis was there to pick a fight with.  He wanted to shout at someone.  But, he had promised Molly that he would try to be better, so he had avoided shouting at her and Door when they decided to take their little tea break.  He doubted they appreciated his efforts.

Door returned with a tray of food, some sandwiches, fruit and pastries.  She and Molly ate and talked quietly.  “Where’s the Marquis?  I really should check those stitches, most of them should probably come out” said Molly.

Door swallowed a piece of sandwich.  “Um, he left a while ago, when you were asleep.  He’ll be back.  He can come in and out of the house when he wants,” she explained.

As if he knew they were talking about him, a door opened and the Marquis strode in.  He walked swiftly to Door and Molly.  “Ladies,” he said with a bow, “I have discovered that tonight the Floating Market is at the National Gallery, shall we go, Molly?” he asked.

Molly watched Sherlock stride towards them, a dark look on his face.  Door leapt from her seat.  “Actually, that’s a great idea, Sherlock wants to talk to some people, so we can all go,” said Door.  Within a few minutes, the group was headed out the door.

Molly had been fascinated with the idea of the Floating Markets since the Marquis had first told her about them.  She was excited about finally getting to see one.  As they walked through assorted tunnels and sewers, Door told Sherlock a little about the markets.  As they approached the market, Molly could see that the Marquis was correct in his descriptions.  Booths spilled out of the museum buildings.  Everyone wore strange and outlandish clothes and the wares they sold were even more unusual.  One booth was filled with bottles in every shape, size and color. Most of the bottles were filled, some with swirling liquids, colored sand and a few definitely contained body parts.  Another stand sold jewelry made of bits of trash.   Around a corner a bored looking man was giving another fellow a half-hearted shave while a long line waited.  Molly spied a woman was walking around with a rat on her head.  Molly realized that the rat was giving the woman directions.   Sherlock, of course, managed to look bored to tears.  Door was pointing someone out to Sherlock.  The Marquis took this opportunity to take Molly by the hand and drag her in another direction.

“Well, here you are finally.  What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s overwhelming.  I can’t believe the rest of London doesn’t notice this,” said Molly.

“Hmm, yes, well come along, I want to make sure you get a chance to see things, I’m sure your dear friend won’t be as considerate,” said the Marquis.

They walked along through the market together.  Molly noticed that most people seemed to have a strong reaction to the Marquis.  Some smiled, but most looked uncomfortable.  A few looked murderous.  One made a distinctly threatening gesture. There were also whispers following them.  Molly noticed some people staring and pointing at the Marquis’ neck.  The Marquis gave no indication that he saw any of this.  He strolled through the Market as though on a Sunday promenade.  He continued to educate Molly about the various ins and outs of life in London Below.  It was a good education, he told Molly about the rat-speakers, the Velvets and the sewer folk.  He also pointed out some of his many associates; they stopped to speak with Old Bailey.  Molly was delighted by the man and his birds.  He gave Molly a bundle of feathers tied with red string, and promised her it would offer her protection.  Molly was enjoying herself greatly when Sherlock suddenly appeared at her side.  He glared at her and the Marquis.  Door was right behind him.

“Molly, where have you been?  You did promise to assist me, did you not? So far you have done a poor job of it,” complained Sherlock.

Molly sighed, Sherlock was definitely back to being himself.  “What do you need?” she asked.

Sherlock didn’t answer, just stalked away.  Door and Molly rushed to follow him. Sherlock stopped abruptly in front of a small cardboard sign that read “BODIE-GUARDS! Cheep!” Sherlock whirled back around, “Door, you did say that the murders had hired several others, bodyguards, to hunt you, that and they placed the double agent Hunter within your ranks, under the guise of a bodyguard. It stands to reason that perhaps they spoke with other bodyguards.  Have you attempted to contact any of them?” he demanded.

“Well, sort of, I mean I tried, but, well Croup and Vandemar had a bad habit of killing anyone they talked to, or looked at, or might have heard about one time.”  Door shivered as she remembered the assassins.     

“What about Hunter?  She’s dead, right?  Who were her known associates?” asked Sherlock.

Door paled.  Molly was surprised to see that the Marquis also looked distinctly uncomfortable.  “Um, I don’t know, she traveled a lot, always going to other cities looking for things to kill.  But, we did meet one person who called her a friend,” Door paused and gulped, “Serpentine of the Seven Sisters” she whispered.

“Yes, here’s a splendid plan. Let’s send Sherlock to go speak with her.  I can only imagine what a delightful experience that will be.  I eagerly await hearing of your meeting,” smirked the Marquis.

“Who’s Serpentine?” asked Molly.  She spoke a bit too loudly; all the vendors and customers around them visibly flinched and moved away.  Door winced and grabbed Molly’s arm.

“Don’t say that name so loud!  Temple and Arch! They’ll accuse you of starting a riot.  I’ll tell you more, back home, okay?” explained Door.  She took a deep breath, and then continued, “Okay, Sherlock, actually, terrifying as it is, it sort of does make sense to talk to her, but that could be a death sentence, so we may need to regroup and think of some other plans.  De Carabas?  Can you think of anyone else who might have associated with either Hunter or Croup and Vandemar?”

The Marquis pretended to study some speck of dirt on his lacy cuffs.  He sighed, “Well, it’s about time someone asked.  Honestly, I can’t think of any, but allow me to do some asking around.  I may be able to locate some information.”  He stopped and frowned at Sherlock.  “Please keep in mind Door, that I do this only as a favor to you and your family, for the many kindnesses they have shown me” he finished.

Sherlock just smiled at him.  The Marquis gave both Door and Molly a swift kiss on the back of their hands, then disappeared into the crowds.  “Well, now on to more important matters.  Namely procuring my personal effects, on to Baker Street.” said Sherlock.  He turned and began to march toward one of the exits.

“Wait!  Damn it Sherlock!  Stop, this is not a good idea!” shouted Molly as she raced after him.  Sherlock ignored her and walked through the exit and began walking down the street.  He attempted to hail an empty cab.  It drove past him.  Then two more did.  Never in his life had Sherlock ever encountered any difficulty in hailing a cab.  He scowled, remembering what Molly had told him.  Door and Molly had both caught up with him and were each tugging on a sleeve of his coat. 

“Sherlock!  You can’t just march into your old flat and start taking your stuff!  Someone will notice!  Besides, remember what I told you about Jim?  What if he is from the Underside?  What if he’s watching your flat and sees us?” Molly begged.

“Who’s Jim?” asked Door.  “And, Molly’s right, even if people can’t see you, this is not such a good idea,” she continued.

Sherlock glared at the two women who had latched themselves onto his coat.  Neither was cowed by his glare.  “Fine.  Please explain, with very concrete examples why it is not a good idea to reclaim my property.  As to your question Door, Jim is a criminal mastermind who is the cause of my currently diminished status.  Molly seems to think that he shares some sort of mystical Death seeing ability with her, and is possibly a former resident of London Below, or some such nonsense.” stated Sherlock.

Molly and Door looked at each other.  Door went first.  “Right, so yes, most London Above people can’t see us, not unless we get in their face and make a scene, even then, they usually forget about us right away, still …  people will notice if your stuff disappears, especially since you’re supposed to be, um dead, and it’s probably not a great idea to clue them into you being, you know, not dead.  And if the guy you are trying to hide from puts two and two together….” Door trailed off.  “What is it you want anyway?” she asked.

“I need my clothing, my phone and my violin” stated Sherlock.

“Oh, well, the phone’s kind of a waste, they don’t work in the Underside, sorry” explained Door.

Molly thought Sherlock might cry.  She tried to rub his arm in a comforting way.  “Maybe we could buy you a violin at the Market?” she tried.

Sherlock looked at her with disgust, yanking his arm away from her.  He threw up his arms and marched further away from Door and Molly.  He started to shout, “Buy a violin!  Buy a violin!  What a capital idea!  Certainly, please let’s throw away the marvelous instrument you already possess in order to obtain a piece of trash, discarded junk or other broken down garbage! What an absolutely brilliant plan Molly! Yes, let’s just go do that!” He muttered darkly to himself as he strode along the street.

Molly looked at Door helplessly.  “I’m sorry, he can be … difficult sometimes,” she murmured.  Molly was fighting back tears; she was doing terribly at her vow not to cry anymore because of Sherlock. 

“Is his violin really that important?” asked Door.

Molly nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s the only thing he likes besides solving crimes. He’ll never admit it, but he’s having a hard time with all this.  Having his violin would probably be a big help. ”

“Because, well, I think I know how we could get it for him, but he won’t like it,” Door paused.  She looked Molly in the eye.  “The Marquis could steal it.”

 “Oh god, I don’t know what would be worse.  Him without his violin or being indebted to the Marquis” Molly sighed.  “He’d know too, there’s no way we could hide it from him if the Marquis got his violin back, besides de Carabas would be thrilled at the chance to gloat.”

Door thought a few moments more.  “Okay, well, it’s probably that or nothing.  I guess we’ll see how bad he gets, anyway, let’s find him before he gets into more trouble.”

The two women turned and raced after Sherlock.  He had disappeared back into the crowds of the Floating Market.  After half an hour of searching, Molly was growing frantic.  Then Door spotted him standing next to a curry stall, looking annoyed.  After some negotiation, the two women were able to cajole him into staying with them.  They decided to get Sherlock some things to amuse himself with.  Door traded for some stuff, including a box of lost cell phones and some new clothes that Sherlock insisted on choosing.  This seemed to placate him a little.  After the final purchases were made, they headed back to Door’s home.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

_The Day of the Fall, St. Bart’s_

As Jim Moriarty watched Sherlock Holmes step off the roof of St. Bart’s Hospital, he was nearly overwhelmed with a rush of glee.  He ran to the side of the roof, peeping over, reveling in the bloody body sprawled below.  His eyes went wide in delight.  The screams of the shocked pedestrians were so sweet.  He giggled a while and spun around to run back towards the figure of Mycroft Holmes.  He grabbed him and kissed him aggressively.  Sebastian Moran dropped the glamour and reverted to his normal self. This made Jim angry and he slapped Sebastian.  “Damn it, did I tell you to switch back?” Jim snarled.  He smiled and stroked Sebastian’s cheek.  “I want to enjoy this moment” he whispered.

Sebastian sighed; another of Jim’s bizarre whims.  He focused and produced the glamour that made him look exactly like the elder brother of Sherlock Holmes.  Jim leered in delight and resumed his assault.  He licked and nibbled and stroked till he was nearly glowing in delight.  “Please Bass, please, please, pretty please” he chanted.

Sebastian lowered his head and nodded.  He knew what Jim wanted and he always gave in.  Jim actually clapped his hands with excitement as he began to rip off Sebastian’s clothes.  He returned to his attack on Sebastian’s body, possessing it entirely.  When he was finally sated, he leaned back and rested his head across Sebastian’s bruised chest.  Jim listened to his partner’s ragged breaths and smiled in contentment.  He gently redressed himself and then his beloved Tiger. 

Moran watched him warily.  He had been with Jim a long time and was familiar with the aftermath of Jim’s highs.  In the immediate period following a great success, Jim would often be manic, filled with energy and desire.  As the glow dissipated, he could become depressed and moody.  Sometimes he lashed out and caused more damage to Sebastian or anyone else in his way.  Other times he needed to be stopped from doing harm to himself.  Right now, Jim was still happy and becoming affectionate.  He curled up next to Sebastian and softly stroked his arm. 

“I love you; you do know that, right?  Oh, I love you so much.  Let’s go home now, dearest” Jim murmured, his fingers drawing lazy trails across Sebastian’s torso. 

Sebastian slowly stood, leaning on Jim for support.  Together they descended the stairs and returned to their car.  Jim stayed snuggled up to Sebastian as their driver took them home. When they reached their home, Jim helped Sebastian to bed, where he tended to his wounds and kissed him gently. Tired from a long exciting day, they fell asleep together.

Sebastian woke up alone the next morning.  He propped himself up on his elbows.  Jim was dressed, in one of his sharper black suits.  He stood, hands in pockets, looking out the window.  Sebastian could tell that he was in a dangerous mood.  “Jim?” he whispered.

“I need to know he’s dead.  I want his body.  I need to see it” Jim said. He continued to stare out the window at the gray drizzle.

Sebastian swung his feet out of bed, his whole body hurt.  He shuffled over to Jim, standing just behind him.  He tried to wrap his arms around Jim, but Jim shoved him away. Sebastian tried another approach.  “You saw him fall; you looked over the edge when he jumped.  He’s dead.  No one could survive that” Sebastian reasoned.

Jim whirled around and attacked him, eyes large with rage.  He aimed for the already wounded parts of Sebastian’s body.  He knew exactly where they all were, he had inflicted the trauma after all.  “Moron! Don’t you ever question me again, you do what I tell you to!” he snarled.  Sebastian stood and took the blows, it was better not to fight back.  Jim raked his nails across Sebastian’s face, raging at him all the while.

“Alright! I’ll go and get it!” Sebastian shouted, tired of the abuse. 

Jim smiled sweetly.  “Oh Bass, I knew you would, you do love me so.”  He stopped and his face changed, darkness overwhelming his features once more.  “Don’t fail, find his corpse and bring it here, no excuses.”

Sebastian dressed and left, headed toward the hospital.  The press was still heavy outside the hospital, reporters delivering the ghoulish details of the demise of Sherlock Holmes.  Sebastian made himself a glamour, a nondescript sort of face, the sort of man no one would remember.  He studied a hospital employee entering the building.  Sebastian added an identification badge to his disguise.  He entered the hospital and checked the map of the building.  There was only one morgue, he walked there slowly, always careful to never draw attention.  He watched other people moving through the halls, copying their movements, always blending in.

When he arrived at the entrance to the morgue, he shifted the glamour, making himself invisible.  He waited till someone entered the morgue and slipped behind them.  He walked past the coolers, too difficult to enter and easily search.  He looked around for another way to find where the body was.  A stack of outgoing paperwork was near the door.  Once the area was clear, he picked up the paperwork and riffled through it.  He found the first thing he was looking for, the death certificate and autopsy of Sherlock Holmes.  He studied the paperwork, frowning.  There was a carbon copy attached.  Shit.  The body of Sherlock Holmes had already been sent to the crematory.  Sebastian found a copier and copied everything.  If nothing else, the documents might distract Jim for a little while.

Sebastian fled the hospital, racing to the crematory.  If he was lucky, they wouldn’t have burned the bastard yet.  It took too long, driving across all of London.  The crematory was outside the city, away from the more populated areas.  Sebastian leapt out of the car and ran toward the building.  He quickly pulled a new glamour over his features.  He stopped at the front desk.  “I need to know about a body, it was brought here. Can you tell me if it’s already been cremated?  It’s my friend, please,” he begged, tears falling. 

The woman behind the desk looked up at him and replied, “Certainly.  What is the name of the deceased?   I will also need to see some identification first.  And we are all very sorry for your loss.”  She smiled a carefully practiced smile, one meant to convey the deepest of sympathies. 

Sebastian manufactured an identification card from within his glamour.  He held it out to the receptionist.  She studied it, and then the face of the man before her.  Satisfied, she tapped some keys on her keyboard with her red lacquered nails.  She looked up, her sympathy smile back in place.  “And the name of the departed?” she asked, concern dripping from her words.

“Sherlock Holmes”

Her eyes grew a little larger; clearly she had been paying attention to the tabloids.  She pushed her glasses back up her nose and bent closer to the monitor. She typed some more and scanned the screen.  She touched the screen with a fingertip as she isolated the information she wanted.  Suddenly, she was struck with doubt.  A worried look replaced the smile.  “You’re not with the press, are you?” she asked.

Sebastian allowed more tears to fall.  “No!  I’m, I mean, I was his friend, I wrote the blog,” he sniffled.

She covered her mouth with her hand, duly impressed.  She looked back to the screen.  “The body of the deceased arrived yesterday afternoon.  Oh, it looks like there was a rush on it for some reason.  It was immediately cremated; the cremains will be ready to be picked up tomorrow, of course after the family selects a fitting receptacle.”  She remembered her last performance review and rifled around on her desk for a brochure.  “This is a selection of some of our most distinguished urns, perhaps you could pass it along to the next of kin?” 

Sebastian took the glossy pamphlet.  “You’re certain, the body’s already been cremated?” he asked with a hint of desperation.

“Yes sir, last evening, and once again, myself and all the team members here offer our sincere sympathy” she parroted.  She rambled on about some other bullshit but Sebastian had stopped listening. 

He dropped the pamphlet and left the building.  Shit.  There was no telling how Jim would react.  Hopefully he had found something else to distract himself.  It wasn’t very fucking likely though. Sherlock Holmes had been Jim’s only obsession for months now.  No point avoiding it, Jim would be madder if he thought Sebastian had tried to hide anything from him.  Sebastian took out his phone and dialed Jim.  News like this should not be delivered by text.  Jim picked up on the first ring.

“Where is it?” Jim barked.

“Cremated”

Silence.  Sebastian counted to thirty before Jim spoke again.  “Tell me everything.”

“I went to the morgue, was looking for the body. I found all the paperwork first, his death certificate and a receipt for delivery to a crematorium.  I’m there now.  There was a rush or something on the body, they burnt the fucker last night.  I made copies of the death certificate.”  Sebastian could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Jim was silent for a while longer.  He sighed.  “Bring it all home.  Hurry up.”

Sebastian drove home, still unsure what he would find.  Jim was lounging at the bar, suit coat missing, tie loosened.  He sipped a chilled martini.  One was waiting for Sebastian, always a good sign. He reached for the drink.  Moran gulped the drink as he held the papers out.  Jim took the papers and looked over them without comment. He studied them for a few moments before laying them down on the bar.  He turned to his lover and studied his face.  He then began to delicately suck on Sebastian’s earlobe.  Just as things looked to be alright, Jim savagely bit down, tearing off the bottom of his partner’s ear.  As Sebastian howled in pain and collapsed to the floor, Jim picked up a cocktail napkin and dabbed at the blood on his lips.  He took a long sip of his drink, swishing the alcohol in his mouth.  He leaned down, sneering at Sebastian.

“You doofus, did you even think of reading any of this?  Look at the signature.  Open your eyes and read it out loud for me” said Jim, drops of blood dotting his cheek and chin.

Sebastian was still clutching his bloody earlobe.  Jim had given him worse, but his ear hurt like hell.  He gritted his teeth and looked closer at the death certificate.  “It says Molly Hooper.”

“Good boy, and do we remember that name?  Because we should,” Jim sang out in his awful sing-song voice.

For a moment, Sebastian had no idea who the hell Molly Hooper was.  Then it hit him, that pathetic girl in the pathology lab at St. Bart’s.  Jim thought she would be a good way to find out about Sherlock Holmes, back when he was still mostly a mystery.  It didn’t take long for Jim to realize she was nothing to the detective; the real answer was John Watson.  She gushed on and on about the man, even though it was obvious that the great detective considered her at best a useful tool. Jim thought he might have some fun with her, but she was even too boring to provide much distraction.  Sebastian looked back up at Jim and nodded.

“Lovely, now, does anyone else here think it a little odd that little Miss Molly would autopsy the man she just loved and dreamed about? Hmm?  Something’s not right, find her, I need to speak to her. Don’t fail again.” Jim picked up his glass and drained the last of his drink.  He whirled around and threw the glass directly into the mirror behind the bar, shattering both.  He dropped a cocktail napkin on Sebastian’s lap, then left.  Sebastian mopped up the worst of the blood.  He then stood and pulled out his phone, searching for the address of Molly Hooper.

It was easy to find her flat, easy to drive there and easy to figure out that no one was at home.  Sebastian cased her rooms carefully.  It was obvious that someone had been here recently and left in a hurry.  Her things were scattered across her bed and floor.  Her car was also missing.  Sebastian knew she was not at the hospital, he had checked already.  She hadn’t been there all day.  Not one of her co-workers had seen her or spoken to her.   Where the hell had she gone?  There were no clues as to where she had gone.  But, in her haste, two coffee cups had been left behind.  Two people had drank coffee before she left, who was the other drinker?  Jim and Sebastian had many resources.  They were both good at getting others to help them do their dirty work.  It was how they had become criminal geniuses after all.  Time to call in some assistance.

Sebastian made a quick call.  The man was on his way.  Harold was the best at what he did.  Sebastian stood outside and smoked while he waited for his colleague.  Not long before midnight, the cab pulled up.  Out stepped an elderly gentleman dressed in rumpled clothes.  He looked at his watch and cleared his throat.

“Awful late at night to be bothering me, you know.  Might be nice if someone paid the fare” he said with an innocent expression.

Sebastian didn’t argue, just handed the cabbie a handful of bills.  As the cab drove away, he turned back to the other man.  He gestured toward the door and they walked in together.  After they entered Molly Hooper’s flat, he began to explain the task at hand.

“This flat belongs to Molly Hooper.  I need to know when she was here last, who was with her and when they left.  And I need to know where they are now. The boss wants to know and sooner is better,” said Sebastian.

The man was listening, but only just.  He had already begun to gather information.  He sniffed the air delicately. He moved through the rooms wafting air towards his nose as he walked.  He lay down on the bed, breathing in deeply.  He picked up some clothes and sniffed them.  He ran his hands over the couch and laid down face first on it.  He slid off the couch and crawled to an armchair and deeply smelled the cushions on the chair.  He picked up each coffee cup and licked the rims delicately.  With all data collected, he sat down to think.  After a few minutes he spoke.

“She was here a little less than 24 hours ago.  Someone was with her, a man.  She longs for this man, her desire permeates the air, but he doesn’t have the same feelings.  He smells of blood, his own.  There’s another smell too, chemicals.  Both were afraid, lots of panic.  Tears were shed, by each of them.  She moved around a lot, he sat in the chair and didn’t move.  They both drank coffee, hers was milky, his was sweet.  They left together.  No one else has been in here since they left.”  The old man rubbed his hands as he finished his explanation.  He held his palm out, waiting for payment.

“Not yet, I told you, I need to know where they went” explained Sebastian.

The old man sighed.  “Leg work is extra.  A lot extra.  This damn arthritis makes it hard you know.  I’m not so young as I used to be” he complained.

“Just do it, Harold, or neither of us will live to see many more days” cautioned Sebastian.

They walked down the stairs.  The old man paused, sniffing the air.  He walked around the sidewalk and across the street a few times.  He picked up the scent and followed it.  The journey was agonizingly slow.  The old man hobbled along, Sebastian swore he was doing it for show.  They crossed London in the nighttime, arriving at the abandoned car of Molly Hooper near dawn.  They both examined it carefully.  She left her keys on the seat, doors unlocked.  The old man climbed in the car, inhaling deeply as he did so.  He tasted each seat as well.  He exited the car, muttering about his back as he did so.

“She parked here not long after she left her flat, she was scared, really scared.  The man was with her, he stinks of despair.  He was thinking about suicide, dark thoughts, hopeless.  Give me a minute, I’ll soon figure out where they went.”

He resumed his slow tottering pace.  They approached a section of the Embankment.  He paced back and forth for a while.  He leaned over the barrier on the river side.  He looked down at the rocks and mud below.  He scowled as it became clear. 

“They climbed over.”  He looked up at Moran with a frown.  “Are you really going to make me climb down there?” asked Harold.

Sebastian nodded.  “I’ll help; Jim would kill us if we didn’t.”  The old man scrambled onto the barrier.  Sebastian bit his cheek to keep from laughing.  He hoped he was never that old and feeble.  Sebastian swung himself over the barrier and down on the rocks.  He reached up and caught the old man as he more or less fell off the side.  There was considerable huffing and groaning as the old man got himself sorted. 

Once he had regained some dignity, Harold resumed his work.  It was harder here by the water.  Too many smells and air moving to really be sure what had happened.  He could tell both Molly and the man with her had been there a while.  He could smell her fear and the man’s angst.  He paced back and forth, trying to understand what had happened.  He walked down to the water’s edge and back.  He caught a tang of blood, the woman’s.  She had cut herself, a few drops lingered on the rocks.  But what was that?  There was another smell, an unusual one.  At first, he wasn’t sure that it was human.  It was a strange smell, sort of dead and decayed.  He thought it might have been a corpse, but there weren’t any revenants around anymore.  Whatever had joined the pair, it left with them.  The problem was where they went.  Their smell was all over in between the wall and the river.  They couldn’t have walked into the wall.  They must have left by the river.  If they did, the old man’s job was done.  He was no good over water.  Harold turned back to Sebastian and explained what he found.

“Fuck.”  Sebastian ran his hands through his hair and angrily kicked some rocks.  “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Don’t insult me boy.  I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve had hair on your balls” the old man shot back. 

“Shit.”  Sebastian knew he had a lot more work in front of him.  His head was starting to ache.  The old man was staring at him, waiting for his payment.  Sebastian dug out some crumpled bills from his pocket and shoved them into the other man’s hand.  Sebastian turned to walk back to the wall and get the hell out of there.

“Hey, I need some help before you go rushing off!” complained the old man.

Sebastian sighed and grabbed him under the shoulders.  He boosted the old bastard up, allowing him to climb up and reach the top of the wall.  Sebastian grunted with the effort.  “You know, this would be a lot easier if you would just fucking change” he panted.

“Not close enough to the full moon, stop your bitching” wheezed the old man now that he lay on top of the wall. 

Sebastian quickly pulled himself up beside the old man.  He rested his head in his hands for a second.  “What the fuck am I going to do now?” he muttered.

The old man laughed, coughing and choking as he did so.  “Not my problem, better hope the boss is in a good mood, or found something else to play with, otherwise, well, I’d not like to be you.”  He hacked and wheezed and then chuckled some more.

“Fuck you.”

The old man grinned.  “I’m not the one who’s gonna get fucked. Oh, and too bad about your ear.  Best of luck then!”  With a cheerful salute, he hopped down from the wall and began shuffling away.

Sebastian sat down on a bench and fumbled in his coat pocket.  He found a half pack of cigarettes and shook one out.  He lit it and smoked in peace for a while.  After he ground it out under his toe, he found his phone and called Jim. 

Jim had been deep asleep, dreaming of yawning blackness and the horrors of the past.  The phone startled him awake, forcing him to remember his dream.  He thought about killing the caller till he saw who it was.  “If you’re calling me, it means you don’t have what I want, and that makes me sad, Sebastian” he pouted.

Shit.  Sebastian didn’t know how to respond to that, he needed to tread carefully.  “I can’t find her, not yet at least.  But I’m almost certain that wherever the hell she is, Sherlock Holmes is with her and definitely not dead.”

Jim yawned.  “That’s nice.  Come home, I’m lonely.”

Sebastian didn’t answer, Jim was in a strange mood and it worried him.

“Oh Bass, please, I’m sorry about your ear, I was just disappointed and that always makes me grumpy.  Come home and tell me everything and then we can go to bed, no biting, I promise.”

Sebastian sighed.  “I don’t know, are you sure?  Do you want me to keep looking?”

“No, I want you here, I promise to be good, cross my heart and hope to die” chanted Jim.

“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”  Sebastian hung up and stood, stretching.  It was too late to easily find a cab, he walked home.  Jim was waiting for him when he arrived.  He was wearing his black silk pajamas and a matching robe.  He was curled up on the couch, lightly dozing.  When Sebastian opened the door he woke up and smiled.  He held his arms up for Sebastian.  Jim looked so sleepy and innocent that Sebastian couldn’t stop himself from embracing him.  Jim pressed soft kisses into his neck and took his Tiger by the hand, leading him to bed.  Sebastian explained everything to Jim as they cuddled in bed.  Jim was strangely amused by the fact that Sherlock was still alive.  It was just a new game he decided.  He was glad for it too.  Otherwise how else would he entertain himself?


	15. Chapter Fourteen

The Marquis de Carabas was seated, sipping tea in the small café where he and Molly had once met, years ago.  It was a good location to speak with people who might otherwise be unwilling to do so.  Finding things out was his specialty, and he was enjoying having his hand back in the game.  He had located a bravo who had worked with Hunter a few times.  The bravo in question was a woman named Baxter, whose weapon of choice was a massive pike.  She and Hunter had hunted monsters in various parts of Europe.  Baxter had been with Hunter in Berlin recently.  It was there that Hunter suddenly decided to return to London after years abroad.  “She got a message.  Didn’t tell me exactly what it said, something about the Great Beast of London.  She could never resist the really spectacular monsters.  Always worked alone when it was something big; she was prideful like that.  Me, I just care about the money, but she was in it for glory mostly” explained Baxter.

“Who sent the message?” asked the Marquis. 

Baxter shrugged.  “No idea.  She wasn’t much for sharing.  I do know that the reason she’d never gone after the Beast before was that she didn’t have the right weapon.  She bitched about it once, hated that, when you had to have some special magical weapon to kill something, thought it wasn’t fair.  Figured if you were good enough, it shouldn’t matter, should be able to kill the beasties with whatever you wanted” said the bravo.

“Did Hunter ever speak about Serpentine? Or any of the Seven Sisters?” The Marquis asked.

“No, not that I can remember, she was never much for sharing.  I know she worked for some of them, but that’s only cause I heard it around.  Besides, the less I have to do with them, the better” answered Baxter, shivering slightly.

They both took a sip of tea, thinking.  The Marquis tried one last question.  “What do you know about a Mr. Croup and a Mr. Vandemar?” he asked.

Baxter flinched. “Bad news, those two. Pop up in different places, different times, always ends the same, wholesale slaughter.  Heard they were here recently, only came back cause I heard they’d gone again.  Had a friend once, told me he was going to work for them, two days later they found his body, what was left of it at least, the uneaten bits.  Bad news, those two.” She shook her head at the memory.  She looked uncomfortable, “Right, well, I don’t think I can remember any more, so pay up” she demanded.

The Marquis reached into a deep pocket of his coat, felt around a bit and then pulled out a grenade.  He offered it to Baxter but she shook her head firmly.  He shrugged, and then tried another pocket.  This time he removed a sheath that held a pair of throwing knives.  Baxter frowned briefly, but then nodded and took it.  She left the café without another word. 

The Marquis leaned back to think.  He hadn’t really learned anything new.  He already knew that Hunter’s betrayal had been bought with the spear, not that it did her much good in the end.  Whether or not Croup and Vandemar or Islington or someone else had been the ones to send the message didn’t seem to matter. And it wasn’t exactly news that Croup and Vandemar didn’t leave behind any acquaintances.  Furthermore, it was also unlikely that Islington had many associates.  While the Underside was generally aware of his existence, everyone also knew that to go for a visit to his home involved a trip through the labyrinth and few were foolish enough to want to do that.  Portico had visited Islington, but that was only possible due to his abilities as an opener.  Of course, Portico had ended up paying for that visit with his life, and the lives of most of his family.  De Carabas had actually been a little sad when he had learned of Portico’s death.  Portico had been a good man, if perhaps too naïve.  The Marquis knew he didn’t stand much of a chance going to try and speak with Serpentine.  She would almost certainly eviscerate him the moment she saw him.  He’d have to think of another approach.

Back in the House without Doors, Sherlock was also concentrating on the problem of Door’s lost sister.  He was focusing on the mysterious Serpentine.  Door was currently telling Molly and Sherlock about the Seven Sisters.  Even in the safety of her own home, Door looked worried just to be talking about them. 

“They haven’t spoken to each other in a long time, 30 years at least, but they’ve all been around a lot longer than that, centuries.  Olympia is the oldest.  They are all pretty intimidating, they’re not exactly known for being nice, more like the bogeymen that eat babies…..” Door shuddered thinking about them.

“Have they ever been known to eat babies?  Or is that just some charming fable from here in Never Never Land?” smirked Sherlock.

It was Door’s turn for a ferocious glare.  “Trust me, they are all scary.  People go out of their way to avoid dealing with them in any fashion.  The oldest two especially, are not people you want to meet,” she said firmly. 

“On the contrary, I am quite looking forward to it.  I have already sent introductory greetings to Serpentine and eagerly anticipate hearing from her in the near future,” said Sherlock with a triumphant grin.

Molly was sitting at the table with Door.  As Sherlock finished speaking, Door blanched and nearly fell off her chair.  She started gulping air like she was about to hyperventilate.  “What … did … you … do?” gasped Door.

“I found a representative of Serpentine at the Market.  It was easy enough to figure out, who else would wear a device with the letter S surrounded by seven stars?  I indicated that I wished to speak with her mistress and would appreciate her assistance in facilitating the matter.  I made sure she knew where to reach me and asked for a response to my request.”  Sherlock seemed rather pleased with himself.  Molly thought Door was going to cry or hit Sherlock.  Molly understood the feeling all too well.  She often felt the same way when dealing with Sherlock.  Door staggered from the room, in the general direction of the dining room.  Sherlock looked confused.  He turned to Molly.

“Not good?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t really know anything about Serpentine, but Door seems terrified and even de Carabas seemed a little intimidated by these Seven Sisters” sighed Molly.

Sherlock frowned and resumed pacing.  Molly was exhausted; she curled up on a nearby couch.  Sherlock perched on a chair and went to his mind palace to review recent events and the data he had accumulated.  While Molly slept, the Marquis de Carabas returned.  He ignored Sherlock and went to find Door.  Thirty minutes later, Molly was being woken from her nap by Door.

“Hey, it’s late, and um, it’s been a really exciting day, why don’t you go back to the guest suite and sleep?  I’ve opened it up, you and Sherlock just have to touch the painting, and you’ll go there by yourself, you won’t need me to take you,” explained Door.

Molly wished her host good-night and then returned to the guest suite.  Sherlock was already there, sitting on the floor, surrounded by pieces of phones.  He had been taking them apart and examining the innards.  He looked up at Molly with excitement as she returned.  “Molly! Fetch me that tool kit,” he ordered.

Molly picked up the box of tools from the desk and walked it over to Sherlock.  He took them wordlessly and resumed taking the phones apart.  Molly heated up some water in the kettle and fixed herself and Sherlock some tea.  He took the tea with a small nod of thanks. Molly sat down on the armchair next to Sherlock. After finishing her tea, she picked up the book she had left there earlier.  She read in silence while Sherlock happily hummed and sorted small pieces of metal and plastic.  The armchair was large and roomy; Molly tucked her feet underneath her.  Her head drooped as she drifted off to sleep.

Door and the Marquis were discussing the day’s events.  The Marquis explained that his investigations had not been very fruitful.  He was surprised to learn of Sherlock’s bold maneuver of sending a message to Serpentine.  It either proved that the man was a raving lunatic or very brave.  In all likelihood, he decided, the answer was a combination of both.  Door also told the story of Sherlock trying to return to his flat in Baker Street. The Marquis was actually strangely interested in Sherlock’s desire to reclaim his belongings.  Obtaining these items would be a challenge.  And it is well known that the Marquis was fond of such challenges, especially since it would irritate his current sparring partner.  Besides, it had been a while since he had the chance to steal anything interesting.  Door began to yawn heavily.  After she left for bed, the Marquis left the House without Doors.  He was on a mission.

Molly spent the night sleeping in the armchair next to the fire.  She hadn’t intended to, she had drifted off while reading.  She was covered up in a warm blanket that she didn’t remember having before.  She smiled when she realized that Sherlock must have done it.  He had moved during the night, she could hear him fiddling with something at the desk.  Of course, he had left an entire pile of cell phone particles on the floor at her feet.  She had to stand carefully to avoid impaling her toes on some circuit boards.  She went to take a bath and freshen up.  The marble bathtub was just as inviting as it had been the first time.  After a long soak and a careful consideration of her clothing options, Molly felt ready for the day’s adventure.  Sherlock had also clearly been preparing for the day.  He had shaved and changed clothes since last night.  Molly was also impressed to see that he had cleaned up the dismembered cell phones. 

“Coffee Molly, I require coffee.  Also, I am anticipating an answer to my missive, shall we?” he asked.  Together they returned to the entry hall. 

_The entry hall is filled with potted palms.  A couple of burly men are standing around arguing about which one to move first.  One man steps aside and orders the others to be quiet.  The conservatory will be a gift for his wife.  If they keep shouting, it won’t be a surprise for much longer.  They finally choose one to move.  The men grunt and strain to lift it towards the new painting on the wall._

Door was already sitting at a table with assorted breakfast items.  But neither Molly nor Sherlock noticed her.  Instead their eyes were immediately drawn to the Marquis.  He had posed himself, somewhat provocatively, on the long banqueting table.  In front of him, a neatly folded pile of Sherlock’s clothing and his violin.  Once Molly realized what she was seeing, she risked a glance at Sherlock.  It was not a pretty picture.  She had never seen his face redden like that.  Sherlock stomped over to the table.  “What is the meaning of this?” he hissed.

“I thought you were a genius.  At least that’s what the papers all say.  Must have been mistaken.  Well, then I’ll just see what the going rate at the Market is for all my ill-gotten goods” smirked the Marquis.

Sherlock began to sputter and gesture wildly.  Before he resorted to violence, Molly rested a hand of his arm.  “Just say thanks” she whispered to him.

Sherlock glared at her like she had just stomped on his precious violin.  He opened his mouth to speak, and Molly winced.  Sherlock realized she was afraid of what he was going to say to her and felt ashamed.  He did promise to try and behave.  He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.  “While I remain mystified as to your motives, if your intent is to return my belongings, then I appreciate what you have done” he managed to spit out through his gritted teeth.  Molly smiled at him and squeezed his arm.  Sherlock felt a curious flutter in his stomach at her touch.  This disturbed him; he pulled his arm away from her quickly, a look of alarm plain on his face.  Molly’s face fell, and she turned away from the two men.  Once again, she had done the wrong thing it seemed. She hurried over to Door and away from further humiliation.

The Marquis was delighted at this little tableau.  He laughed and leapt from the table.  “Oh Sherlock, you do amuse me so.  What a charming surprise for my sweet Molly to bring me, you’re quite welcome by the way,” he mocked as he swept past Sherlock and on to breakfast. 

Sherlock was furious with himself yet again.  Trying to be nice was proving to be far more difficult than he had anticipated.  Somehow this was all John Watson’s fault, he was sure of it.  He busied himself with collecting the pile of clothing and his violin.  He removed his belongings to the safety of the guest suite.  When he returned, he silently joined the group seated around the table.  Before he was able to say or do anything, Molly handed him a cup of coffee.  It was perfect, like always.  Yet again, Sherlock was unsure of what to say or do.  Should he try and apologize to Molly?  What exactly was he apologizing for anyway? He was already frowning when the damnable Marquis pulled out his next trick. 

“Why, what do I have here?  A bit of scandalous newsprint…”  The Marquis delicately unfolded a tabloid.  Sherlock’s face was splashed across the front, along with the words FRAUD DETECTIVE!

“Oh no, please, don’t” stammered Molly as she tried to snatch the paper.

“But Molly, my dear, you’re mentioned too” smiled de Carabas.  “See, here on page 3”  The Marquis read aloud with gusto, “Dr. Molly Hooper, a pathologist who was known to have collaborated with Sherlock Holmes and was the one to perform his autopsy, has been declared missing.  Colleagues report that she was last seen leaving St. Bart’s after the suicide of the alleged genius detective.  Her car was found, abandoned near the Thames.  Anyone with information about her whereabouts is asked to call the police.”  He smirked and handed the tabloid to Molly. “You’re famous my dear”

Molly looked at the paper and groaned.  She bit her lip as she read.  The articles gushed on and on about the downfall of the man they had once lauded.  Photos of Sherlock and John were liberally sprinkled with damning quotes from Sherlock’s detractors.  They all seemed to jump at the chance to blacken his name.  Molly was near tears again. 

Sherlock grabbed the paper out of Molly’s hands.  He folded it up and placed it on the floor, underneath his chair. Molly glanced down at it.  Jim Moriarty’s psychotic smile beamed up at her, framed by the phrase “INNOCENT VICTIM?”  Sherlock continued as though nothing had happened, and began to scoop food onto his plate.  This was startling.  Molly was fascinated, she couldn’t think of another time she had ever seen Sherlock actually eat a meal.  It was hard to get him to stop and eat a snack most times.  She was also pleased to see that the Marquis was eating and drinking.  As he finished eating, Molly spoke.

“Um, if you don’t mind, I’d like to check your injuries.  Most of your stiches should come out, I think.”

“Of course, shall we do it here?” asked the Marquis.

Molly nodded.  “I just need to get some supplies.  I’ll be right back.”

When she returned to the entry hall, Sherlock was gone and so was the tabloid.  Door had also left for regions unknown.  De Carabas was lounging on a sofa, juggling three jeweled daggers.  As Molly approached, he finished, catching all three daggers in one hand, and then spinning them away with an extra bit of fanfare.  He followed Molly towards the long banqueting table, removing his coat and shirt as he walked.  He lay down on the table as Molly washed her hands.  She looked over the Marquis.  It was still unbelievable just how well he had healed.  Molly flushed with pleasure as she thought about what she had accomplished.  She had spent so many years hiding her talent and trying to suppress it that she had forgotten just how powerful she really was.   “Well, I’m going to wash the area first, and then remove the stitches.  Um, I don’t usually take stitches out, at least out of living people,” she stammered.  “I’m sorry if it hurts, okay?”

“I’ve had worse” he shrugged.

Molly set to work.  She began with the stitches at his neck.  Carefully, she snipped each stitch and removed it.   She debated with herself about beginning this conversation, but was dying of curiosity.  She couldn’t resist any longer.  “So, why did you go and get his things?  I mean, it was nice, but … you always told me that you weren’t … nice,” she began

“I was bored.  And I knew it would make you happy and him angry” explained the Marquis. “Besides, I prefer to remain unpredictable.”

Molly kept snipping.  She wiped away the tiny beads of blood that appear when she pulled out the threads.  “Where did everyone else go?” she asked.

“Who cares?” Molly gave him a look.  The Marquis sighed.  “Very well, I wasn’t really paying attention; I suspect they’ve gone to Portico’s study.  Door is always looking for things there.  Her father collected lots of information and a fair bit of junk.  She’s always hoping to find something to understand all this.  And of course, as the last known member of the House of Arch, she will be faced with certain responsibilities” he continued.  Molly thought about this, she felt sorry for Door and hoped she and Sherlock could help find her sister. She continued working in silence.

After an hour of work, Molly was finished.  She cleaned the Marquis up and he redressed in his typically outlandish clothes.  He thanked Molly and pronounced her efforts a success.  Then he strode to the exit and left the house without another word.  Alone, Molly returned her supplies back to the guest suite and picked up her book.  It was a copy of Sense and Sensibility.  Perhaps it had been left behind on the Tube one day.  She wondered if the Underside had its own authors and artists.  It must, of course.  What sort of strange creations would they come up with?  Maybe they dreamed of the exotic lives of London Above, tales of businessmen and students, the mundane now the surreal.  She daydreamed and read till she was interrupted by the arrival of the Marquis.  For once, he looked flustered and a bit afraid.  “You need to come with me, your idiot friend has probably doomed us all,” he hissed.  Molly dashed over to him and they returned to the entry hall.

_The entry hall is barren; there is no furniture at all.  Only four paintings hang on the walls.  A rectangle of light appears in one blank wall.  A man strides through it. He is carrying a large empty gilded frame.  He hangs it on a wall.  As the frame is hung, a picture of a room fills in the inside of the frame.  Once the picture is complete, the man touches it, and disappears._

Standing in the entry hall was a pale woman dressed all in black leather.  A tight corset bound her waist.  Across her chest was a white sash.  Door and Sherlock stood near her.  Sherlock was reading a letter and Door was wringing her hands.  She rushed over to Molly and the Marquis as soon as they entered. “Molly! She’s a messenger! From Serpentine! She wants us to come with her! Do you understand just how bad this is?  It’s bad! And I say that as someone who was recently menaced by a fallen angel and pair of demonic murderers for hire!” whispered Door furiously.  Molly honestly had no idea what to say.  She hoped that Door didn’t expect her to be able to control Sherlock in some way.  Apparently no one could do that.  Molly was saved from having to speak by Sherlock appearing at her side.

“Molly.  We have received an invitation to visit with Serpentine.  I would like you to accompany me, though I understand if you are reluctant” he intoned.  He held out the letter to her.  She took it and read. The Marquis read over her shoulder.

_Mr. Holmes_ ,

_My page has told me of your request.  I am intrigued.  You and the Lady Door may accompany my page to my home. I promise my protection and guarantee your safety. If you choose not to accompany her, do not attempt to contact me ever again.  If you do attempt to contact me again, I will personally ensure that your demise is agonizing and slow._

_S._

“Well, that seems straightforward” smirked the Marquis.  “I say we send him, should end well.”

“Sherlock, you want me to come with you?” asked Molly.

“Obviously, why else would I ask?” Sherlock said.

Door twisted her hands in her short hair.  She looked at the Marquis.  “De Carabas, what do you think?” she asked.

“Me?  I think it’s a terrible idea, the worst I’ve heard since Molly decided to make a permanent change of address and bring along the most hideous piece of tripe she could find.  But, I’ve already gone along with so many of your other charming adventures, I might as well take this opportunity to visit another of our collective nightmares,” he shrugged.

The woman in black began to walk away, toward the exit.  Door bit her lip, but followed quickly behind her. Molly rushed after her to catch up.  Sherlock passed both women with his long strides. The Marquis strolled along after the group as though he had all the time in the world. 


	16. Chapter Fifteen

They exited the House without Doors into a different section of the Underside.  Molly wondered how many exits there were.  Serpentine’s page walked slowly and silently.  She never looked to see if anyone was following, merely continued her march.  After a brief trip through a stone cavern, Molly thought she heard the sound of rushing waves.  As they continued on, it became clear that the sound was actually Tube trains.  They stepped through a low entry way, and were standing on a small train platform.  A small black steam train, unlike anything Molly had ever seen when taking the Tube, was waiting.  Door staggered back when she saw it. She grabbed the Marquis’ arm and clung tightly to him. “The Underside Line! Temple and Arch!” she whispered.

The Marquis rubbed her arm and made some comforting noises.  “It’s not that bad, just remember, Islington was worse,” he murmured.  Actually, he thought it was nearly as bad, but he kept that to himself.   The black corseted woman stood next to the passenger car, it was the only train car, save the engine.  She waited while the others boarded.  Once they had all entered, Serpentine’s page closed the door.  The engine started and the train slowly pulled away. 

Molly peeked at her traveling companions.  Sherlock was impassive as usual.  All that was missing was his phone; normally he would be busy texting.  Door looked terrified; she still clung to the Marquis.  And even he looked uneasy.  The inside of the passenger car looked like something left over from the 1860’s, which Molly reasoned, it probably was.  The whole train car smelled musty, like old books and forgotten secrets.  Dark wood paneled the walls.  The seats were also carved wood, upholstered in burgundy velvet.  Thick, black curtains covered the windows.  Molly went to move one aside to look out the window, but the Marquis stopped her.  He shook his head and frowned.  Molly lowered her hand and stared at her lap instead.  No one spoke for the duration of the ride.  After twenty minutes, the train began to slow and eventually creaked to a halt. 

Serpentine’s page stood and opened the door.  She walked out without a word.  Sherlock followed her and everyone else followed him.  Standing on another train platform was Serpentine herself.  She wore a ragged white dress.  Molly thought it sort of looked like a wedding dress, well, what a wedding dress would look like if it was thrown into a sewer, dredged up, washed on some rocks and dried near a volcano. Her white hair was shockingly unruly.  She sneered at the group.  Door took a quick breath and stood up straighter.  “Serpentine.  Thank you for granting us safe passage…” she began.

“Shut up, I want to speak to this Sherlock, not you.  Which one of you is Sherlock?” Serpentine demanded.

He stepped forward and surprised everyone by bowing gracefully.  “Lady Serpentine, I am Sherlock Holmes.  It was I who spoke with your servant, thank you for your swift reply.  If it please you, I wish to inquire about recent events, I believe you may be able to help me” he said.

“Ha! Well, the Lady bit was a nice touch, but not needed.  Door, surprised to see you again, I only allowed you to come here because I want to know about what happened to Hunter.  Otherwise I would have killed you all, sending me messages, you have no idea how lucky you are, Mr. Sherlock Holmes” said Serpentine.  “Well, hurry up, it’s time to eat, come on.”  She turned and marched away, followed by her silent servant.

Door was trembling, but followed after her.  Her strange group of companions came along as well.  Serpentine lead them to another, smaller train platform, this one set with a fancy table and chairs.  The sound of Tube trains passing through nearby tunnels could be heard and the rush of air as they passed felt.  Serpentine sat down and waved toward a row of silent servants.  They carried dishes and platters to the table.  Serpentine began to eat with enthusiasm, shoveling the strange food into her mouth.  Molly wasn’t sure what most of the food even was.  Most of it looked slimy; one bowl could only be filled with baby eels.  Door wasn’t eating much, just biting her lip nervously and playing with the food on her plate.  Sherlock wasn’t eating, but that was hardly unusual.  The Marquis was delicately spooning food onto his dish and ate with impeccable manners.  Molly tried to choose something that didn’t look like entrails. She settled on a brownish mush.  It wasn’t bad actually, sort of a mushroom casserole.  Serpentine slowed down her furious eating, then spoke, chunks of food spraying out of her mouth, “Which of you can tell me what happened to Hunter?  I wish to learn of her final moments.” 

The Marquis de Carabas set down his fork and dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin before speaking. “I was there.  She took the spear that she had received as a blood price for her betrayal.  She tried to kill the Great Beast of London, but failed and was badly wounded.  With her help, Richard was able to slay the Beast.  Hunter gave him her knife, and blessing, and then died.  We had to leave her then, to go and save Door,” he explained.

Serpentine nodded, satisfied with the response.  She resumed eating, heartily chewing and devouring the meal before her.  She stopped to scowl at Sherlock and his empty plate.  “You beg to speak with me and then insult my hospitality?  A poor choice, I think” she growled.

Sherlock bowed his head, “My apologies, I rarely eat while I am working, it was not my intention to offend you,” he said.  He chose some of the mushroom dish that Molly was eating.  As he ate, Serpentine nodded with satisfaction.

“And what sort of work is it you do, Sherlock?” asked Serpentine, waving a fork at him.

“I am a consulting detective.  I solve crimes that others can not,” he explained.

“And what crime has brought you here today?  I assume that is why you tried to contact me” queried Serpentine.

“You are correct.  I am investigating for the Lady Door, she wishes to learn of the whereabouts of her sister, Ingress.  I thought perhaps you might have information that would assist us in our endeavor,” said Sherlock.

Serpentine smiled, and spun a goblet around, sloshing the wine from side to side.  She looked at Door now.  “Well then, your sister, eh?  You know if your father wasn’t such an absolute fuck-up, you wouldn’t ever have had the chance to dine with me. Twice!  And leave alive, both times!” Serpentine laughed, snorting and spraying food particles across her guests.

Door didn’t respond.  She didn’t dare wipe the slimy mist of masticated food off her face either.  Serpentine finished cackling and refilled her goblet.  “You are actually in luck, for I actually have heard something about the lost child.  My spies tell me that my beloved eldest sister has a new handmaiden.”  She laughed even harder now, spilling wine across the grimy tablecloth.  She positively hooted with delight, slapping her knees and choking with mirth. 

Door managed to actually become paler.  For a moment, she swayed from side to side.  The Marquis reached up to steady her.  She grabbed her goblet and drank her wine in one swift gulp.  She took a deep breath before asking her question, “Serpentine, please, is there any way I can bring my sister back?”

This just made Serpentine start laughing even harder.  She coughed and wheezed.  “How the hell would I know?  I don’t speak to that bitch; she’s crazier than even I.  I’m sure her spies have seen you by now, you could try going to speak with her, she might let you live too!” She laughed till tears ran down her check.  She gestured to one of her black clad women.  The servant stepped forward.  Serpentine whispered into her ear, and then the servant left.

“I’ll even give you a ride!  They’re making the train ready, it will take you to Olympia’s realm, and back again, should she allow you to leave” Serpentine smiled, as though she had given them all a marvelous gift.

“Thank you, Serpentine” murmured Door.

Serpentine belched loudly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Think nothing of it child.  Someday I may need your help, don’t go getting yourself killed now.  Oh, and good luck” she snorted and giggled to herself.  Then she stood from the table, and swept out of the room, followed by her silent retinue.

Door groaned and laid her head down on the table.  De Carabas thought quickly.  He needed to get rid of Molly and Sherlock.  Nothing good could come of them going along to Olympia’s dark domain.  He suspected that both of them would argue, they were irritatingly noble like that.  His schemes didn’t get far.  Sherlock interrupted his thoughts, “Don’t even think of suggesting that I stay behind.  I believe I have proved that I can behave myself.  And yes, we should discuss a way to send Molly back to Door’s house,” he said.

“What? I want to stay!” argued Molly.

“Molly, I don’t want to put you in danger, we will return later,” stated Sherlock.

Molly was slightly distracted by the concern Sherlock showed for her.  But she stubbornly continued, “No! I’m staying and that’s that.  Door needs someone besides you two mad bastards.”  She glared at Sherlock and the Marquis, daring them to push her.

“Oh fine, please Molly, please join us on what will almost certainly be another madcap adventure resulting in death and dismemberment” said the Marquis, sounding bored.  He took the opportunity to refill his goblet and swiftly drank more wine.  It was an excellent vintage after all, might as well enjoy it.  One of the side effects of being dead was an appreciation for good things whenever and wherever they appeared.

“All of you shut up.  Molly, they’re right, it’s probably safer if you leave now.  But you’re a big girl, you can chose for yourself” said Door flatly.

Serpentine’s page returned, and gestured for them to follow.  The four looked at each other, then departed Serpentine’s dining room and returned to the black steam engine.

The gleaming black steam engine of the Underside line roared back to life as soon as Door and her companions boarded.  Serpentine’s silent messenger did not accompany them this time, leaving them to travel alone.  Door was shaking slightly.  Molly held her hand and occasionally murmured what she hoped were helpful comments.   The Marquis dug around in his pockets till he found his pennywhistle.  He played a few notes and scales at first, then began to softly play a song.  It took a few moments, but Molly finally recognized it as “Heroes” by David Bowie.  Sherlock sat by himself, knees draw up to his chest, head sunk to meet his knees.   He seemed to tolerate the music at first, but then stood and walked directly in front of the Marquis and yanked the flute away.  Molly was surprised that the Marquis merely smiled at this, she thought the two men would finally come to blows.  He leaned forward and grinned at Door.  “I’m rather enjoying this little jaunt, you know.  Since the Earl has banished me, I rather miss taking the Tube” he said.

Door started to cry, “Not now, please.  Just shut up for once,” she sobbed.

The Marquis sat back and was quiet.  Everyone sat mutely as Door’s soft sobs dwindled.  Molly fidgeted, unsure of what to do.  The train creaked as it swayed along the tracks.  Strange sounds could occasionally be heard from outside the windows.  Whispers and faint screams, and once Molly thought she heard her name called.  Time seemed to slow down and waver.  Flickers of light danced at Molly’s peripheral vision.  Then with a sudden rush, her death sense overwhelmed her.  She cried out and fell to her knees.  Molly covered her ears, but was unable to escape the noises that had amplified with her sense of death.  She heard terrible voices, screaming in pain and describing the deaths of many.  Growls and shrieks were building towards a terrible crescendo.  Right when she began to gag, everything stopped.  Sherlock was kneeling next to her and looking at her, fear plainly visible in his eyes for a split second.  Molly grabbed his arms and then received the shock of her life when he actually pulled her into a hug.  He let go of her nearly as quickly as he had embraced her.  He stood, looking embarrassed and just as shocked as Molly.   He wiped his hands on his coat and then carefully pulled Molly up to her feet.

“Well, here we are” drawled the Marquis.  The door slid open and tendrils of fog rolled in.  He gestured floridly toward the door, and then strode through it.  Door closed her eyes for a moment, and then hurried after him. 

Molly stared at Sherlock.  He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable and unsure.  He looked toward the door and frowned.  “Are you alright?” he asked quietly.  Molly nodded.  Sherlock shocked her again by taking her hand and leading her off the train.  Door and the Marquis stood on a brick train platform inside an immense stone cavern.  Fog filled the cavern.  A single lantern light shone next to them.  As Sherlock and Molly approached, another lantern started to glow, further down the platform.  Door and her companions walked toward the lantern, and more lanterns began to shine in the mist.  They followed them to an arched doorway and then a long set of winding stairs.  Molly looked back and saw the lanterns they had passed were fading.  Strange echoes bounced inside the stairwell.  Fog ebbed and flowed around their feet.  At the bottom of the stairs was a massive wooden door, banded with thick iron hinges.  The door opened silently as they approached.  They walked through, and entered the throne room of Olympia.

No ceiling or walls could be seen in the massive cavern.  Olympia sat on a throne hewn from stone.  Her skin was alabaster pale and her eyes were pure white as well.  Her dress was wispy and ethereal, as though it was made out of the fog that swirled and pulsed through the caverns.  Some sort of diadem was twisted in her red matted hair.  Molly was reminded of oil portraits that she had seen of Queen Elizabeth I. Standing next to Olympia was a small girl, dressed in tattered clothing.  Her hair was the same curious auburn as Door’s; she could only be the youngest child of Portico, Ingress.

Door let out a sob as soon as she saw her sister.  She stuffed her hand in her mouth to quiet herself.  Tears flowed unbidden.  She breathed out slowly, gathering herself.  She stood up as tall as she could, pushing her shoulders back.  “Lady Olympia, I thank you for allowing us safe passage here. I am Door, daughter of Portico,” she began with a shaky voice.

“I know who you are” interrupted Olympia.  Her voice was breathy and strange.  “I know why you have come.  Who are your companions?”

“This is the Marquis de Carabas, Lady Olympia, he has assisted me and my family” started Door.

Olympia laughed, a dusty sound. “Ha! I know of you!  Still stealing corpses?” she sneered.

The Marquis bowed low.  “Not recently, my lady” he said.

“And the rest?  Who are they?” asked Olympia.

“This is Molly and Sherlock, they have recently come from London Above.  Molly is an old friend of the Marquis and as such, she and her friend are welcome in my home,” stated Door.

Olympia stared at them hungrily. She reached out and stroked Ingresses’ hair with bony fingers.  Ingress had not moved or reacted in any way since Door and her companions entered. Olympia yawned and stretched, yanking on Ingresses’ hair. “You have to come reclaim something that is mine,” she said.  “I do not wish to give it” she finished.

“Please, Lady Olympia, she is all the family I have left, please allow Ingress to return home with me,” begged Door.

“No.  I rather like her” smiled Olympia.  She stroked Ingresses’ face, fingernails lightly scratching her skin.

Door began to shake, she had heard about Olympia and her handmaidens.  She always had at least one.  When threats of Serpentine failed, bad girls heard that they could be given to Olympia.  No one knew why she had her handmaidens or what she did with them.  Olympia’s handmaidens were replaced every so often, and no one knew what happened to the old ones.  They were never seen again.  Door tried again, “Please, I offer myself in exchange, please allow Ingress to return to our home” she pleaded.

Olympia snorted.  “I don’t want you.  But perhaps I could be swayed with a trade” she smiled.  She resumed carding her hand through Ingresses’ hair.  With a wicked gleam in her white eyes, she said “I’ll take him” and pointed directly at Sherlock.

Sherlock did not move or speak.  Door quickly said “Oh, no, I mean I can’t, he’s not mine, I can’t trade another person.”

“Ha! He travels with you, stays in your home; as such he is clearly one of your subjects.  If you wish your sister back, you will order him to remain here with me!” crowed Olympia.  “Well?  I am weary of this nonsense; make your choice and leave, while I still allow you to do so.”

Before anyone else could react, the Marquis stepped forward and gracefully bowed.  “My Lady Door, please, if I may.  Olympia, I wish to offer myself in exchange for Portico’s daughter.  This man, while possessing a fair face and body, is extremely exasperating and will prove to be only a hindrance.  He is recently fallen from the Above world and unfamiliar with our refined ways, and as such he will be an unpleasant companion.  Allow me to remain here and the child to return to her home” offered the Marquis.

Door tried to grab his arm.  “De Carabas! What are you playing at?” she hissed.  He waved her away, and waited for Olympia’s reply.

Olympia thought about the Marquis’ offer for a moment.  A slow grin spread across her blank face.  “Hmm, an unusual offer, and such a noble one at that” she paused and thought some more.  She giggled to herself, an odd childish sound.  “Fine.  I accept the offer, the child is yours and I will retain your advisor. A good exchange I think” she grinned, displaying her rotten teeth.  Door gasped and covered her mouth.

“Splendid, my lady, I beg a small indulgence, please allow me to bid my companions farewell,” asked the Marquis.

Olympia nodded graciously.  The Marquis de Carabas turned to Door first.

“You don’t have to do this, I mean it, there has to be another way” cried Door as she clutched the Marquis’ arm. 

“Oh hush, stop sniveling; I know what I’m doing.  You’ll just owe me another two really big favors when I come back” he smiled.  He hugged her then whispered, “Take good care of your sister, I’ll be back.  I fully intend collect those favors” he winked at her and then walked to Molly.

Molly had barely moved the entire time.  She was nearly paralyzed with fear.  The Marquis kissed her softly and bent to whisper in her ear. “You deserve better than him, I hope you know that.  And no, I don’t mean me; you’re really not my type anyway.  Ask Old Bailey about the other Deathseer, he’s your best chance for information.” 

Molly rushed over to Door.  They were holding hands and crying.   The Marquis approached Sherlock. It was hard to say who was more startled when the Marquis grabbed Sherlock and kissed him soundly on the lips as well.  He pulled Sherlock’s ear close to his mouth and whispered, “Take care of them, or else, and please, hurry up and do something, before you lose her altogether, you’re an idiot but she likes you anyway, not that you deserve her in the least.”

Sherlock stumbled backwards when the Marquis released him.  He joined Door and Molly as the Marquis strode away.  He bowed low to Olympia and said, “My Lady Olympia, I am at your service.”

She grinned wickedly at him.  Then she stood up and shoved Ingress forward.  “Go ahead, take her, and leave me, immediately if not sooner!” cackled Olympia.  She reached out and stroked the Marquis’ face lovingly, licking her dry cracked lips.

Ingress stumbled forward, Door rushed to grab her.  She picked Ingress up and held her closely.  She spun and rushed from the throne room, grabbing Molly by the hand as she ran.  Sherlock raced closely behind them.  They rushed back through the caverns to the waiting train.  As soon as they entered the passenger car, the train lurched forward.  Door still clutched Ingress as huge sobs wracked her body. Molly collapsed in a seat.  At first she barely registered that Sherlock was sitting next to her.  But then she felt his arm tentatively wrap around her shoulders.  She gasped, then fell against Sherlock’s chest and cried till she fell asleep.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

It was weeks before Ingress would speak, or even attempt to communicate in the least.  She was silent the whole time the train bore her away from her captor.  She did not react when her sister carried her into her home.  Her face was devoid of any emotion for long time.  Door brought her food, starting with her favorite chocolate cake.  Ingress ate slowly and neatly.  When she could eat no more, she stopped.  She drank if a cup was given to her.  She allowed her sister to bathe and clothe her.  For the first weeks of her return, she was little more than a doll that breathed. 

There were some things she did not allow.  When Door tried to take her outside of the House without Doors, Ingress fought wildly till she was brought back inside her home.  Door tried to bring people to see her sister, but Ingress would attack them with nails and teeth.  However, she was accepting of Molly and Sherlock.  Ingress would allow Molly to help Door bathe her and care for her.  If Door needed to leave, Ingress was content to stay with Molly and Sherlock.  She even permitted both of them to carry her.  Door was devastated; she feared that she had lost her little sister just as surely as if they had never found her.  Molly tried to reassure her. 

“She’s been through a lot, but kids are resilient, she knows you love her,” said Molly.  She knew her words sounded hollow, but didn’t know what else to say or do.

Door didn’t answer, just glumly ate another slice of chocolate cake.  It had been appearing in the kitchens nightly.  Sherlock was in the entry hall, playing his violin.  Ingress was fascinated by his playing.  She stared at him while he played, her face expressionless.  It made Sherlock nervous.  Children in general made him uneasy.  They were far too unpredictable, it made them difficult to deduce.  Children were pure chaos, anathema to his ordered mind.  He was not heartless, merely afraid of something so unfamiliar.  He had had few opportunities to play with other children when he was a child.   Mycroft had been his primary playmate, till he grew weary of his baby brother’s demands and abandoned him for school and friends.  Sherlock was still at heart a show-off though.  He secretly did enjoy the little girl’s attention, especially since she was silent and demanded nothing of him.  If all children were like this, perhaps he could grow to like them.

Molly drifted toward the entry hall and the music.  She smiled at Ingress, who sat with her arms wrapped around her knees.  Sherlock was turned away from them, but Molly knew he was acutely aware of his audience.  Molly sat down on a comfortable armchair and was pleasantly surprised when Ingress stood up and climbed up on her lap.  The little girl snuggled down underneath Molly’s arms.  Molly was almost afraid to breathe. Ingress was perched like a little bird and Molly feared she would startle and disappear. 

Sherlock was playing a sweet melody, something soft like a lullaby.  With a bit more of a flourish than was strictly necessary, he finished the piece.  As the last notes died away, another soft sound could be heard.  He spun back toward his audience.  Ingress was lightly clapping, a small smile on her face.  Molly’s face lit up at the little girl’s reaction.  As Sherlock looked at their brightly shining faces, he was nearly overcome by the feelings that rushed through him.  He had to turn back away from them.   Door had returned to the entry hall before he had finished playing.  He saw her now, crying tears of happiness.  It was hopeless; he gave in and smiled back at her.

Door scooped her sister up in her arms, hugging her closely.  Door whispered to her sister, but Ingress remained silent.  The sisters left, back towards their own quarters.  Molly suddenly felt shy.  Despite his best efforts, she had plainly seen the emotion on Sherlock’s face.  She knew he was also delighted that the little girl had finally responded to something.  But this moment was too fragile, she was afraid to move or breathe, for fear it would shatter.  So she waited and watched. 

Sherlock had set his violin down and walked away, pacing again, head sunk to his chest.  He was worried about the ongoing breakdown of his ability to avoid emotional responses.  He had always enjoyed showing off.  While he hated the thought of performing for crowds, he did secretly enjoy the responses of his friends when he played for them.  Ingress’s reaction had seemed to break something inside him, that and the look of joy on Molly’s face.  He didn’t know what to do.  As his confusion built, he felt himself become more agitated.  He hoped Molly didn’t say something saccharine, he didn’t think he would be able to control himself from lashing out.  Mercifully, Molly stood and returned to the guest suite without saying a word. 

_The sitting room is empty, save a large orange cat napping in front of the dying embers of the fire.  A mouse creeps out of a crack in the wall.  It runs to the desk, where a tray of food has been left.  The mouse climbs the leg of the desk and snatches a crumb.  Now bolder, it grabs a bigger piece of bread.  Without warning, the cat has leapt on the desk.  With a swipe of its paw, it captures the mouse._

Molly yawned.  It was late.  She went to her bedroom and changed into a nightgown.  She thought about going to sleep, but felt too excited.  She walked into the sitting room to find a book.  It was four weeks since Sherlock had jumped from the roof of St. Bart’s, three weeks since the rescue of Ingress.  The Underside was starting to feel like home.  Sherlock definitely was much happier now that he had his violin.  He was still determined to cobble together a phone.  Bits and pieces of cell phones were scattered across the sitting room.  He had also begun some experiments, although he was disappointed in the lack of proper scientific equipment.    Molly was careful not to disturb his projects as she searched for a new book.  She had noticed that books seemed to appear and disappear from the shelves.  It was unlikely that Sherlock was reading them, he had sneered at her fondness for fiction.  She found a copy of Jane Eyre underneath some boxes of rock samples.  She curled up in the armchair and started to read. 

Molly heard Sherlock return to the guest suite just as Jane was being released from her imprisonment in the Red Room.  Molly could hear him return his violin to its case.  He moved over toward the shelves next, probably checking on his experiments, thought Molly.  He walked toward the fireplace, stopping to stare at the flames.  He fiddled with the kettle for a moment.  “Tea?” he asked.

Molly closed her book, and then stood up and stretched.  She reached for the kettle, “Sure,” she said.

He waved her away.  “I’ll make it” he stated.  He carried the kettle into the other room to fill it with water.

Molly couldn’t remember ever seeing Sherlock do something so domestic.  Obviously he must know how, he is a genius, she thought.  And he must have been able to fend for himself before John Watson came along.  Still, it was startling and hard to comprehend, sort of like the Queen making herself a sandwich.  It stood to reason that she was capable of doing such a thing, but one could never quite picture it happening.  For a split second, Molly envisioned Sherlock wearing one of the Queen’s hats.  She could clearly picture the annoyed look on his face as he wore the pastel and feathered headgear.  She was still giggling when Sherlock returned.  He gave her a look, and then resumed fussing with the kettle.  “I do hope that you haven’t been trying to make jokes, Molly” he complained.

This just made Molly laugh harder, the image of Sherlock in a pastel picture hat even more firmly stuck in her head.  She was starting to snort, which made Sherlock scowl at her even more.  Something about the grumpy look on his face reminded her of his terrifying brother, Mycroft.  Which of course led to her picturing Mycroft wearing one of the Queen’s frocks, along with his umbrella being carried by a corgi.  Molly was now gasping for air, clutching her sides.  Sherlock was starting to look worried, as though he feared she was losing her mind.  “What on earth is so funny?” he asked petulantly.

“You’re the detective, you figure it out!” howled Molly.  She giggled once more then stopped with a hiccup. The tea kettle began to whistle and diverted Sherlock’s attention.  He busied himself with fixing two cups of tea.  He handed Molly hers with a frown.

“Well?” he asked, looking stern.

“Well what?”

“I am still waiting for you to explain this sudden outbreak of hysteria,” he huffed.  He looked wounded, quite annoyed with himself at being unable to deduce Molly’s laughter.  He sat down, stirring some sugar into his tea.

Molly just laughed some more, blushing a bit. Like hell she would tell him. “Oh Sherlock, you are just going to have to wonder” she told him with a smirk.  “Thank you for the tea, by the way” she continued.

Sherlock frowned at her and drank his tea.  Molly smiled at him and finished her cup.  She stood and picked up her book.  “Well, goodnight,” she said.  Still in a giddy mood, she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on the top of his head.  Sherlock winced and jumped backwards in his chair.  Molly felt the blood drain from her face.  “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m ….I’m …” she babbled.  She ran into her bedroom and locked the door.

Sherlock sighed to himself and dropped his head in his hands.  Why the hell had Molly done that?  He had been conducting himself very well lately.  There had been no heartless deductions or manipulative flattery.  And now this.  He had been delving into his mind palace, trying to figure out why Molly had begun giggling.  He had no idea what she had found so funny and it had been vexing him quite a bit.  It should have been readily apparent.  When John started to chuckle so, he could usually deduce what was so amusing. Not knowing was driving him crazy.   He had been deep in thought when she suddenly felt the urge to kiss him.  He had been startled and flinched.  People didn’t touch him, not willingly, not lovingly.  It wasn’t that the notion of Molly giving him a kiss was so awful as to make him jump.  It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one.  Maybe it was even sort of nice.  Wait, had he really just thought that?  There had to be something in this weird London Below that was affecting his thought processes.  It was the only logical explanation.  He was losing control.  He leapt out of his chair and stormed into his own bedroom. 

Molly had buried herself deep under the covers in her bed.  She was completely mortified and there was no one to blame but herself.  There was no excuse.  She hadn’t even been drunk!  Sherlock had been fulfilling his promise, in the past weeks; she had noticed him holding his tongue.  Especially considering all of the strange and stressful situations he had been in, he had been behaving himself quite well.  Molly had tried to tell him that she noticed his efforts and appreciated them.  Sherlock had just brushed her off with an irritated quip, clearly uncomfortable. Overall, things between them were good, more relaxed.  And now, she had done the unthinkable, she had kissed him.  It was just a quick peck on the top of his head.  She had given Ingress such small signs of affection without thinking, but well, Sherlock was Sherlock.  Molly whimpered as she thought of Sherlock wincing at her touch.  Maybe she would suffocate under the blankets and put herself out of her misery. 

In the other bedroom, Sherlock was also cocooning himself in a mound of blankets.  It had been about three days since he had last actually laid down in bed to sleep.  There had been quick naps here and there, but his body was finally demanding proper rest.  He fell asleep quickly, curled up on his side.  As he slept, he dreamed.  He rarely remembered his dreams, but this time he did.  In his dream, he was chasing a woman up a flight of stairs.  As he reached the top, he realized that it was The Woman.  Irene Adler stood in her bedroom, naked, wielding a riding crop.  Just as she had in reality, she stuck him with a needle filled with drugs.  His dream-self fell to the floor, unable to move but still quite alert.  Irene was laughing at him, and then she turned to the door.  Molly stood in the doorway, wearing the long old-fashioned night gown she had been wearing in the guest suite.  Irene took Molly by the hand, and they began to waltz.  But then it wasn’t Irene, it was the awful Marquis dancing with Molly.  Sherlock tried to shout, but in his dream he was paralyzed.  The pair spun around and around.  Molly was laughing.  They stopped, but now the Marquis was a giant cat, still clothed in the Marquis’ bizarre ensemble.  Molly took the riding crop off her dancing partner and began walking towards Sherlock.  She stopped right in front of him, smiling mischievously and tapping the crop on the palm of her hand. That was when Sherlock had woken up.  Now that he was fully awake, he realized that he had a new problem.  For the first time in over a year, he had an erection.

He groaned, but not from pleasure.  He thought he had eradicated those unwelcome feelings.  Like all humans, he had suffered the hormones and lusts of adolescence.  Attending an all-boys school made finding a willing female partner difficult for even the more popular lads.  For a well-known freak and deviant like Sherlock, there were no willing partners of any sort.  He was too strange, too gangly and awkward.  His peers let him know he would never find friends or romance.  And he had believed them.  Besides, friends and lovers required time and energy to maintain.  He was not interested in either sort of relationship. His mind required stimulation, not his genitals.  He had devoted himself to suppressing such desires.  By the age of 18, he no longer experienced such uncontrollable physiological urges.  The affair with Irene Adler had eroded his control.  There was a brief moment when he had been desperately attracted to her.  He thought about giving in to his base desires, but was able to resist.  He was glad that he did, in the end she was cruel and would have shattered him.  He had re-learned his lesson.  He had buried those thoughts and feelings.  He had felt certain he would not be plagued by such urges in the future.

And yet, here he was, faced with undeniable evidence to the contrary.  But this time, it was not The Woman who had provoked such a response.  It had been Molly.  Damn! Just thinking her name had made the offending organ twitch.  He needed to stop this before it progressed.  He did not want to have to deal with it as most men would.  It was too unpleasant, too intimate and frankly, sticky.  He emptied his mind.  He thought of math problems, calculating pi, counting prime numbers in French, anything dry and mathematical.  After some time, he became aware that the problem was gone.  He sat up, feeling shaky.  He debated bathing, but chose not to, far too much touching.  He dressed quickly and strode into the sitting room.  Molly was not there.  The door to her room was open.  He peered inside, she was not there either.  He left the guest suite and went to the entry hall.

_Stillness.  The entry hall is empty.  A man enters.  He is holding a knife which drips blood.  He pauses for a moment and licks the blood from the blade with a quick flicker of his tongue.  He hums happily as he cleans the blade.  Another, larger man enters.  He is carrying a small motionless child over his shoulder. The men leave and the room is still once more._

Sherlock knew that the vision he had just seen was of the abduction of Ingress.  The entry hall currently looked alarmingly similar to how it appeared in the last vision.  It was empty.  Sherlock wasn’t even certain of what he was doing there.  Who was he looking for anyway?  He needed to leave the house.  He walked to the painting of Portico’s study.  Hopefully Door was there.  He knocked on the painting, and then waited.  After a brief moment, Door appeared. 

“Oh, Sherlock, hello” she said.

He suddenly wasn’t sure why he had summoned her.  Panicked, he affixed an arrogant glare on his face; it was how he felt most at ease after all.  “Door, I would like to leave” he stated.

“Oh, alright, um, give me a moment please,” she asked.  He nodded and Door disappeared back into her father’s study.  Sherlock waited till she returned.  When she did, they walked to the exit together.

Door had been taking Sherlock for walks to familiarize him with the Underside.  She was enormously grateful to him.  She credited him with finding her lost sister.  When she told Sherlock this, he had modestly insisted that sheer luck had more to do with finding Ingress than he had.  Molly had been stunned when he admitted this.  Sherlock the show-off was well known to her, she had never seen him be humble about anything.  Door was still thankful.  She was certain that they never would have found Ingress if he hadn’t foolishly sought out Serpentine.  Door wanted to help him become familiar with his new home and gladly took him exploring once she realized that Ingress was happy to stay behind with Molly.  They walked through brick tunnels in silence.  Finally, Door spoke, “So, did you have anywhere you wanted to go?”

“Not particularly” he answered.  He kept his hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground.

Door chewed on her lip.  She had promised that she would speak with him, might as well get it over with.  “Well, um, Molly and I were talking.  She thought you might want to find your own place, and I can help.  I think I can find a flat or building that was lost and make it so you could live there, it shouldn’t take too long and then you could move” she began.

Sherlock glanced at her.  It was obvious that Molly had told her everything about their last awkward encounter.  He cursed women and their inability to shut up.  He stopped and raised his eyebrows as he looked at Door.  “I am sorry if my presence in your home has become a burden” he said flatly.

“Oh, no, it’s not that, um I think Molly just thought you would want to be on your own, you know, like you said, you prefer to be alone.  We just thought maybe you were tired of being cooped up with us….” She trailed off, looking away from him.

Sherlock sighed.  He rubbed his hands through his hair.  At this moment, he truly had no idea what he wanted.  Mostly he wanted his old life back, the flat in Baker Street and chasing criminals with John.   But, life in the Underside was starting to grow on him.  And he would be lying if he said that he wanted to go back to always being alone, John had cured him of that.  The notion of separating from Molly was … unpleasant.  And difficult as it was to admit, he sort of liked living with Door and Ingress too.  They had almost formed an odd little family, which was the only sort of a family he could ever belong to.  He lowered his head.  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked Door.

“Um, no, I mean, it’s fine if you want to leave, you don’t have to stay, but, no I don’t want you to leave,” she answered.

While she spoke, he turned away from her.  “And Molly, does she want me to leave?” he whispered.

Door paused. “Well, I mean, you’d have to ask her, but I don’t think she wants you to go.  She just thought you might want to be alone.”

“I would like to speak with her” he paused, uncertain.  “That is, if she wants to.”

“Okay, well let’s just head back then,” said Door.  They turned back and returned in silence to the House without Doors.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this strange story of mine. I truly do appreciate it and welcome any constructive criticism, it's been a long time since I tried to seriously tell a story. Writing this story was a challenge I set for myself, and I wanted to share the result. 
> 
> Just a reminder, I don't own any of the Sherlock or Neverwhere characters. they belong to men more talented, wealthy and British than I.

 

Molly was reading a book of fairy tales to Ingress.  At least, she was trying to.  Molly didn’t want to read any stories about children being stolen, fearing they would upset the little girl.  However, she was finding that far too many fairy tales involved kidnapping or homicide or other such nastiness.  Ingress sat on her lap.  She was still not talking, but had actually nodded slightly when Molly asked if she wanted to listen to stories.  And every time Molly stopped reading, Ingress would turn and look at her with questioning eyes.  So Molly kept reading, despite all the horrors the fairy tales contained.  They were in Ingress’ bedroom.  It was a cheerful place, filled with well-loved toys.  Ingress would go inside her room if someone was with her, but she firmly refused to sleep there, even if Door stayed with her.  She had been sleeping in Door’s room every night since her return, curled up next to her sister.  Door returned just as Molly finished another grisly story.  Molly stood up, wiping her hands.  “Um, well, what did he say?” Molly asked nervously.

“It was weird, he never said yes or no, but I do think he was sort of upset, I think he thought we wanted to kick him out” answered Door.  “He’s waiting, he wants to talk to you, well he said he did as long as you wanted to talk to him,” she continued.

“Damn it.  Okay, well, I might as well, right?  I can’t screw things up much more, can I?” sighed Molly. 

Door gave her an encouraging smile.  She turned to Ingress.  “I’m just going to take Molly back to the entry hall and then come right back, okay?” she asked.  She was delighted that Ingress gave her a small nod as an answer. Any kind of communication was a welcome sign. Door took Molly’s hand.

_Door stands by herself in the entry hall.  She is crying.  The Marquis de Carabas is sitting on the other side of the room, fiddling with some small objects.  Door takes a deep breath and turns back to the Marquis.  She begins speaking and he nods and stands._

Sherlock was pacing around the entry hall.  He was worried about what would happen when Door returned.  If he had known that faking his suicide would force him to deal with sentiment and feelings, well maybe he would have just shot Jim when he came for tea.  Feelings were so inconvenient and messy.  He was too far out of his element, he didn’t know what to do, and he hated that more than anything.  Door reappeared, with Molly beside her.  Door gave Molly a small hug, and shot Sherlock a look filled with meaning.  She turned and disappeared back into the painting.  Molly was twisting her hair around a finger and staring at the floor.  Sherlock walked over to her and took her hand.  She gasped and turned her head to the side, blush creeping up her face.

“Molly, I would like to speak with you, will you accompany me to our rooms?” he asked.

Molly nodded, and broke away from him, walking quickly back to the guest suite.  Sherlock followed close behind.

_A young woman runs out of the pink bedroom.  She is barefoot and wearing a loose gown.  She is laughing.  A young man rushes out behind her and chases her around the chairs.  Both are giggling.  He catches her and they fall together into a chair.  They kiss deeply._

As soon as she reached their rooms, Molly started to babble and wring her hands.  “I’m sorry, I really am, I know I shouldn’t have done it, and I’m really sorry, you’ve been so great and haven’t even made me cry, and I’ve noticed I really have, and I’m really grateful, so please can we just forget everything about last night, because I don’t know, I just, um …”

Sherlock was staring at her, trying to connect the string of words flowing from her mouth.  Why did she always stammer so?  He had to stop her.  Swiftly, he stepped toward her and wrapped his arms around her.  “Please shut up” he murmured into her hair.  Molly froze.  She had thought of a hundred different outcomes to this moment, every one more horrible than the last.  This scenario was not one of them.  She clutched at his shirt, not knowing where to put her hands.

Sherlock breathed in the scent of her hair.  He could feel her heart racing.  He remembered a warm spring day, long ago when he was only five.  Roaming outside, he had found a baby rabbit asleep under a hedge.  Fascinated, he held it in his hands, feeling its tiny heart flutter.  He remembered the awe he had felt at holding something so alive and so fragile.  Suddenly, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.  He should have had a plan.  He worried that he would say something that drove Molly away and yet he didn’t know what he wanted.  The notion of welcoming a romantic relationship was almost as frightening as losing Molly.  He had dimly known that Molly had a crush on him.  He had abused this knowledge for years.  Now that he held her, he was overwhelmed by the realization of just how strong her feelings were.  He stroked her hair, marveling at the sensation.  She shivered slightly at his touch.  He reached inside their embrace and found one of her hands.  He gently pulled it out of its death grip on his shirt, and then brought her hand around to his back.  Understanding, she wrapped her other arm around him, tightening their embrace.

“Molly, I need to explain.  Last night when you … gave me a kiss goodnight, I wasn’t angry, just surprised” he sighed.  This was difficult.  “I have known that you have certain … feelings for me, though I have never really understood just how strong those feelings were.  I didn’t want to upset you.  I don’t mind if you touch me, Molly.”

She pulled away, confused.  She looked up at him.  “I don’t understand, Sherlock.  What do you mean?” she asked.

“I don’t know either, I’ve never done any of this before” he frowned.  “I just don’t want you to think I was angry.  If you were to do something similar in the future, it would be … acceptable, I think,” he continued.

Molly’s eyes widened.  She reached out to touch his hand; he curled his fingers around hers.  “Oh, well, um it’s okay if you want to touch me, in case you didn’t know” she whispered, blushing.

He looked down at their hands.  “Are you sure?  Molly, I have no experience in this area, I don’t understand these feelings, this sentiment, I know I want you near me, but I don’t think I can properly return your feelings,” he looked up, straight into her eyes.  “I don’t want to hurt you any more, you are important to me” he said firmly.

Molly was trembling slightly.  She squeezed his hand and stepped closer to him.  “Okay, well, what if we just stay on as friends and maybe we can try to be a little more if we both feel comfortable.  I don’t really have much experience either, but I know I want to stay with you, no matter what” she murmured. 

Sherlock nodded and smiled slightly.  He led her to the armchairs.  Once she was seated, he asked “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please.”

He prepared the tea, handing her a cup and then sitting in the other chair sipping his tea.  They sat in comfortable silence, both thinking over what had just occurred.  Sherlock finished his tea and then turned to Molly.  “I do have one question.  What was it that provoked you to laugh so?” he asked.

Molly giggled.  “Seriously?  I’m surprised you don’t know, it’s stupid, do you really want to know?” she asked.

“Obviously” he replied with an annoyed eye-roll.

“Um, well it’s very random, but I may have pictured you wearing a hat like the Queen likes to wear.  You know, those big pastel hats with the flowers and feathers?”

“That is rather bizarre Molly.  Were you feeling unwell?”

“No! Oh, I also may have imagined your brother wearing one of the queen’s dresses.  There were corgis involved, carrying umbrellas.”

Sherlock actually laughed at this.  He had had similar thoughts when dealing with Mycroft’s stuffy ways.  He had also made sure to tell Mycroft about such thoughts during their many spats.  He cleared away the tea things and then proceeded to look over some of his experiments.  Molly sat in her chair, still thinking, still mostly in shock at what had just transpired between them.  She hoped that they could make this strange fragile relationship of theirs work. 

In the following weeks, Molly and Sherlock continued much as they had before.  Only now, they would occasionally find themselves briefly holding hands or otherwise exchanging light touches.  Molly was content, she had no idea what sort of relationship they had, but wasn’t idiotic enough to worry about it or worse, question Sherlock.  She was happy the way things were, though she wouldn’t say no if Sherlock became interested in more.  Besides, there were other problems to concentrate on. 

They needed to focus on the problem of Jim Moriarty.  Molly still felt that he had to share her abilities as a Deathseer, or at the very least, some other sort of magical talent.  There was a more immediate concern as well.  Sherlock was getting bored.  Molly was now completely in awe of John.  How on earth had he lived with a bored Sherlock Holmes, especially one who wasn’t making a serious effort to avoid saying hurtful things?  Molly had never witnessed the full horror of a sulking Sherlock.  He had usually been in the midst of a chase when he was in the morgue.  Now he was moaning and whining about nearly everything.  The violin had helped at first, but was no longer enough of a distraction.

Sherlock had nearly torn apart the guest suite sitting room searching for mental exercise.  He had given up his attempts to build a phone.  He seemed to have finally accepted that his texting days were at an end, which had meant a day long silent sulk.  He finished that spell by tossing all the cell phone parts in a box, which he took to the little courtyard and blew up with some improvised explosives.  It had nearly scared Door witless, but Ingress had been amused.  The little girl was fascinated with Sherlock.  She could often be found studying him in silence.  Anytime he played the violin, she would be there.  Molly had worried that she might irritate him, but oddly enough, he seemed to enjoy her curiosity.  One day Molly found them sitting at the desk in the guest suite, poring over a dusty manuscript.  Sherlock was reading it out loud to the little girl who was perched on his lap.  Molly had to listen for a while before she could figure out that it was a complicated treatise on sound waves.  Sherlock was adding his own commentary, explaining how it related to his violin playing.  It sounded terribly dull to Molly, but Ingress was captivated.  Still, even his new admirer couldn’t keep boredom at bay forever.

First, Molly needed to know what had happened when Sherlock met Jim on the rooftop.  She knew it would be painful, and had hesitated to ask, putting it off for weeks.  Sherlock looked angry when she first brought it up, but then began to tell her.  He sunk into what was now “his” armchair in the guest suite.  He spoke quietly at first, volume growing as he recounted the last moments of his former life. 

“I thought that I could still outwit him, I knew I could.” He clenched his fists at the memory.  “He had told me once that he was so successful because he had some computer code, the secret key that would unlock all the doors.  It sounded ridiculous, but I thought there might be something to it. I told him I knew about the code.  He just laughed.  But then, he told me that everything was over…”

He paused and stared at his hands.  Molly stood and walked to his side.  Heart in her throat, she sat on the arm rest of his chair.  Molly wasn’t sure how he would react.  She was surprised that he leaned against her as she carefully laid her arm along his shoulders.  Feeling bold, she reached her hand up to stroke his hair.  He didn’t complain, so she twined a curl around her finger.  As she began running her fingers through his hair, he began to speak again.

“He said that all of it, everything in my life was fake.  He claimed that Mycroft had arranged for me to work with Lestrade, the crimes were fake, it was all a ruse, something to keep me busy, that it was meant as a distraction, to keep me away from bad habits” he sighed, leaning closer to Molly, snaking his arm around her waist.  He was quiet for a while, the fingers of his free hand tapping an agitated beat.  He pulled Molly closer to him.  He resumed his story in a whisper.

“My family, there is a history of mental illness.  When I was younger, there was concern, fear, that I was similarly afflicted.  My father, was … unwell.  And for a while I behaved in a way that gave credence to those fears.  Molly, I was once addicted to cocaine.”

“I know.”

He looked up, surprised.  “You do?”

“When I first met you, I could tell, you looked awful.  I do have some medical training, you know.  And I did see a lot of former addicts, but they were all dead of course” she trailed off.

“Molly, you frequently surprise me.  I have underestimated you time and time again, please forgive me.”

“Shh, it’s alright, please finish telling me about the roof, what happened up there?  I was so frightened when you woke up, you were different, scared” she said.

Sherlock sighed again.  “Jim said that Mycroft was paying Lestrade and John to keep me busy, to keep me from losing my mind.  He claimed it had not been enough, and that I was truly the one to harm those children.   He said that Mycroft was covering it all up, but that I was to be sent away … somewhere like where my father ended up.” He was shaking slightly now, the horror of that morning still too close.  “I didn’t believe him, but then, Mycroft was there.  And then I didn’t know what to believe.”

“Are you sure it was him?  I mean maybe they could disguise someone.”

He shook his head.  “No, all the tiniest details were there.  They could never make a disguise to fool me, not of him.  So I jumped.  I knew you were still there somewhere, I knew I could count on you” he finished.

Molly was near tears, she suspected Sherlock was as well.  She kissed the top of his head.  “Sherlock, you can always count on me” she whispered.

He looked up at her again, and smiled.  “I know” he said.  Then he reached his other hand up, slowly, uncertain.  He cupped her cheek in his hand and then briefly kissed her on the lips.  Molly felt her face flush, nearly swooning. It was a very sweet kiss.  It had none of the flair or technique of the kisses the Marquis had given her, and yet it was far better than any of his ever could be.  Sherlock broke away, face also flushed.  His head swam with the rush of feelings.  He turned away from her, thrilled and alarmed at what he just done.  Molly stood then, nervous and unsure. She backed away from the armchair and then smoothed her hands over her shirt. 

“Thank you” she said.

He glanced at her, confused.  “For what?” he asked.

“Telling me about the roof.  And for trusting me” she smiled.  “Um, well, maybe some tea?” she asked.

He smiled and nodded, relieved that the intensity of the moment was broken.  Molly grabbed the kettle and walked to the other room, needing a moment to regain her breath.  Sherlock had just kissed her.  It felt like her brain was spinning.  She took longer than she needed and fussed about fixing tea.  She could hear Sherlock stand and move around the room.  He was fiddling with something in the desk.  When she returned, she was alarmed to see he had built a rudimentary drill out of random junk from the desk drawers.  He was frowning at some glass tubes and bits of rubber.  She set the kettle down and crept over to see what he was doing.  He looked at her excitedly and began shouting at her before she could even ask.

“A vacuum tube!  Fetch me some clamps! And hoses.” He returned his focus to the scattered items on the desk.

“Wait, why?” she asked, afraid of what his answer would be. 

He snorted.  “The window obviously, Door said she doesn’t know what’s outside them, possibly nothing, maybe it’s some sort of antimatter. It’s an experiment Molly!”

“No! No drilling through windows!” she shouted.  She tried to grab some of his supplies, but he was too quick and yanked them away.

Sherlock actually pouted, “It’s for science Molly.  Surely you understand” he scowled. 

“No! We’re guests!  Remember no drilling in other people’s homes!”  The tea kettle began to shriek in the background.  Molly turned and poured the tea, checking over her shoulder.  Sherlock had dismantled the drill, but was still looking at the windows with frustration.  She handed him a cup. He took it with a frown.  He sat on the floor, staring at the windows, in a full on sulk which didn’t let up till the morning.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Before Sherlock could completely destroy Door’s home, Molly approached him with plans to discover more about Jim Moriarty and if he had links to the Underside.  She told him she had a lead on who to ask about Deathseers.  She didn’t mention who the lead came from; Sherlock still looked murderous any time the missing Marquis was mentioned.  They set off for the Floating Market that evening, looking to make contact with Old Bailey.  Door knew of Old Bailey, but had never had much to do with him.  She was surprised that the Marquis knew him.  Old Bailey was known as a character, but not considered a very important or interesting person, unless one was looking for a bird. 

Door had also discovered that there was a great deal of interest in the Underside about Sherlock and Molly.  She had told no one how she had recovered her sister, so of course, everyone knew all about it, or at least believed they did.  Some of the gossip was clearly false, but it was generally recognized as true that the two recent arrivals from London Above had something to do with it.  Door had warned Molly and Sherlock about the level of interest they had generated.  She also suggested that they consider adopting new names.  Names could have power, and since they were in hiding anyway, better to be safe.

Sherlock had chosen to go by the name Vernet, in a rare moment of nostalgia, he had explained to Molly that Vernet was his maternal grandmother’s maiden name.  Molly decided on Mary, her mother’s name.  They set out for the Market once the matter of the new names was settled.  This evening the Market was being held at Saint Paul’s Cathedral.  Molly wanted to look around, but Sherlock was too intent on the matter at hand.  Old Bailey was easy to find, one just had to follow the squawks.  They spoke with him briefly and made arraignments to meet with him privately at his current rooftop campsite.  Sherlock had brought the newspaper that the Marquis had taunted him with.  He had shown the picture of Jim Moriarty to a few people, but no one recognized the name or face.  With no further objectives, Sherlock relented and wandered the stalls with Molly for a while.  She was thinking of looking for some new clothes.  Sherlock put a stop to that.  After he nonchalantly insulted her taste in clothing once time too many, they left to return to Door and Ingress.

The next morning Sherlock and Molly left to go and visit Old Bailey.  He was currently residing on the roof of a non-descript office building.  They walked along, passed by the residents of London Above.  Molly noticed they seemed to shy away from her and Sherlock. Person after person gave them a wide berth, changing their path without seeming to realize.  It was also clear to Molly that Sherlock was curious about their responses.  As they entered the building where Old Bailey had made his home, she could almost see the wheels turning in his head.  It started with him going directly to a security officer, who blankly answered the inquiry about the elevators and then focused on something else.  As they waited for the elevators, a small crowd joined them.  When the doors opened, the crowd waited, allowing Molly and Sherlock to enter first.

Sherlock whispered to the woman in front of them to push the button for the 25th floor.  She did so without pause.  Now his eyes really lit up.  Moly tugged on his arm, “Hey! No experiments on people!” she hissed.

Sherlock looked at her with what he believed to be an innocent expression.  “Pardon?” he asked.

“You’re thinking about experimenting on these people, don’t!”

“I most certainly am not,” he huffed.

“You are!  You get that look!” Molly insisted.

“I do not get any sort of a look.”

“Yes you do! I’ve seen it before, the glee of experiments!  You can’t experiment on people, it’s not ethical!” she begged.

“Ha! That’s never stopped me before!” he sneered.

“Oh my god, who did you experiment on, it was John, wasn’t it, what the hell did you do?” she asked.

“Hmph.  I merely allowed him to come into contact with an experimental drug that produced fearful visual and auditory hallucinations then provided some stimulus to see what happened under laboratory conditions.  It was nothing,” he grumbled.

“You drugged him! Oh god, that’s terrible!  You can’t drug your friends!”

“It was for a case!  I needed to know if others would react as I had.” Sherlock frowned and folded his arms tightly.  Molly noticed that while they had been arguing the elevator had gone to the top floor and back down to the ground floor.  The elevator emptied.  As the elevator filled back up, Molly whispered the number twenty-five to a man in a business suit.  He pushed the proper button then checked his watch.  This time the ride was silent as Sherlock continued to pout. 

Molly and Sherlock stepped off the elevator at the 25th floor, they were the only people left on the elevator.  The offices on the upper floor had recently been vacated and were currently being renovated.  Rolls of carpet were stacked in the hallways.  Sherlock and Molly walked down a corridor to a sturdy door that was clearly marked MAINTENANCE ONLY.  It swung open at their touch, allowing them to walk up a small flight of stairs to the roof.

Old Bailey was somewhat nomadic; he tended to move from one rooftop to another as the mood struck him.  He had a decent set up at his current stopping place.  His tent was pitched in the lee of the wind and a small fire burned in a metal trash can.  Birds of all sorts were scattered around the roof, some in cages and some untethered.  Old Bailey was adjusting his feathered cape when Sherlock and Molly approached.  He greeted them eagerly, “Hey, here you are then!  Nice, innit?  Always like a good roof, far better than livin under the muck, no place for a bird or a man, I say, good to see you both! Now, what are we discussing about then?” he asked rubbing his hands together.

“Well, I was told that I should ask you about Deathseers, um, I am really curious about male Deathseers actually” Molly began.

“Oh, they’re a bad sort, the men Deathseers they are.  Killers.  Crazy they are.  Of course the girls is crazy too, but they don’t go for the killing and torture so much, good ones to speak to if you want to know how long you’ve left.” Old Bailey said.  Sherlock gave Molly a pointed look. 

“Um, have you heard of any Deathseers, specifically male ones, in London?” Molly continued.

Old Bailey scratched his ear with a feather he plucked from his cape.  “Naw, no Deathseers about.  Well, someone must have done that egg for his foolishness the Marquis, don’t think he ever went no where though.  Probably some nutter girl somewhere, theys more common anyhow.  She’s hid herself good, or dead, or absolutely bonkers.  Years ago, did hear there was a man Deathseer in Dublin, but that must a been sometime ago, might have been in a war then.  Think he was even selling services, which is odd, usually they just stick with cutting and chopping and not asking permission.”

Sherlock brandished the newspaper clipping with Jim Moriarty’s picture.  “Have you ever seen this man?” he asked.

Old Bailey took the paper and stared at it for a moment, adjusting his glasses, and then moving the picture closer and farther away from his face, trying to focus on it.  He frowned and shook his head.  “Don’t think so, unpleasant looking sort though, too much teeth” he said.

Sherlock began to pace, fiddling with some junk he had picked up, clearly this interview wasn’t fruitful enough.  Molly tried one more topic.  “If someone wanted to look like another person, a perfect copy of them, could they do it?  I mean have you ever heard of anything like that?” she asked.

“Sorta sounds like what the fairy stories call a glamour.  Some sort of a fairy gift, they can make you see what they want, it’s how no one has ever noticed em before.  Can make themselves look normal, hide things, make stuff invisible or see something that’s not there, you know, all the usual tricks.  Never saw a fairy before, but then there you have it, that glamour they use” Old Bailey explained.

“Are there any people in the Underside who could do that?” Molly asked.

“Oncet in a while, I suppose, the smart ones they keep it to themselves of course, not wanting to be sharing a talent like that with any body that came down the pike.  It’s another thing the Irish have a knack for, comes from all them fairies they got carousing around, probably heaps of people underneath Dublin could do it.” An angry squawking began to sound all around them.  The wind picked up and swirled trash around the rooftop.  Old Bailey’s birds became agitated; most of the free ones flew away.  The old man chased after them shouting curses to no avail.  He stopped and coughed before grumbling back toward his guests as the wind died down. Molly thought a little more.

“What about a Deathseer?  Could they make a glamour?” she asked.

“Eh, I doubt it, too much magic in one body, doesn’t happen, body can’t bear it.  And both are not so common to begin with” he said.  He turned around and started counting the birds that remained. 

Molly looked at Sherlock; he shook his head and walked towards the roof access door.  Molly thanked Old Bailey and gave him some scissors and a coil of clothesline for his information.  He smiled and winked at her.  “Oh, when you see the Marquis again, make sure you tell him he’s a fool and so says I.  Oh, and it’s alright dearie, I won’t tell anyone about your deathseeing.  You’ve done good not losing your mind, no wonder you could make that bastard such an egg, good luck then” he finished.  He shook her hand firmly and waved goodbye as she hurried to catch up with her long legged companion. 

Sherlock was quiet for the return journey to the House without Doors, obviously annoyed.  Molly was just glad that Old Bailey hadn’t brought up the Marquis de Carabas very much.  If he had, Sherlock would definitely be in an even fouler mood.  When they entered Door’s home, it was dinner time.  The smell of food was wafting from the dining room.  Ingress came running out of the dining room, having heard Sherlock and Molly return.  She grabbed Sherlock’s hand and dragged him toward the dining room.  He attempted to protest, but quite meekly.  Molly had noticed that he tended to obey most of her whims.  Door was carrying some trays of serving dishes as Molly entered the dining room.  Molly helped her set everything down and then took her usual seat next to Sherlock.  The kitchen had sent up a huge tureen of beef stew and it smelled delicious.  There were also massive fresh warm rolls and butter.  Door filled Ingress’s bowl and then her own.  Molly also took a large serving of stew, hungry after hiking all over London Above and Below. 

Molly dug right in, the stew was fantastic. She broke open a roll and breathed the warm steam that arose.   As she took a sip of water, she noticed that Ingress had paused and was glaring across the table.  Sherlock hadn’t touched a thing.  Molly brought her napkin up to her mouth, attempting to hide her smile.  Another battle in the ongoing war between Sherlock and Ingress was clearly brewing.  Door always had dinner in the dining room now that Ingress was back.  Sherlock and Molly usually joined them.  It hadn’t taken long for Ingress to note that Sherlock rarely ate.  A battle of wills between the two of them had begun, with Ingress determined to force Sherlock to eat, and he reluctant to do so. 

Ingress stood on her chair and leaned over the table.  She pushed a candelabrum to the side, affording her a better view of Sherlock’s empty bowl.  She pointed at his bowl and glared.  Door was also trying not to laugh out loud now.  Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.  Ingress leaned further now, dragging the hem of her dress into her bowl of stew.  She ferociously pointed at the tureen of stew, then Sherlock’s empty bowl and then his mouth.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, turned his head, sniffed and said, “No thank you.”

Now Ingress clambered up on top of the table.  With a determined look, she stomped to the tureen and began messily ladling stew into Sherlock’s bowl.  Molly and Door were both snickering now.  Ingress grabbed Sherlock’s spoon and thrust it into his face.  For a moment, the two combatants stared each other down.  Then Ingress grabbed Sherlock’s chin, filled the spoon and was about to shove the spoon in his mouth when he finally relented.  “All right! Fine!” he shouted.  He grabbed the spoon and angrily ate a bite.  Ingress smiled and walked back across the table and neatly sat in her chair. 

Molly and Door were howling.  They clutched each other and ran from the room, nearly collapsing from laughing so hard.  When they returned, Sherlock and Ingress were peacefully eating as though nothing had occurred.  Sherlock’s shirt had stew spattered on it from Ingress’s assault and the little girl’s dress was also dripping with stew.  Sherlock glared at the two still giggling women and muttered something under his breath about their atrocious table manners. Molly snorted and resumed eating.  Door just smiled and rubbed Ingress’s hair. 


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Molly wasn’t surprised that Sherlock disappeared shortly after he finished eating.  After their argument about human experimentation, disappointing interview with Old Bailey, and the showdown with Ingress, Molly was certain that Sherlock would be worked up into quite a strop.  When she returned to their rooms, Sherlock’s door was closed.  The sounds of a violin being utterly tortured poured from within.  She had no idea how he could produce such wretched sounds.  Perhaps he had traded his bow for a chainsaw.  He kept at it all night. 

Molly tossed and turned in her bed, desperate to sleep.  Hiding her head under the pillows wasn’t working, Molly finally gave up and carried some blankets to the entry hall and dozed on a sofa there.  She woke up to Ingress staring at her solemnly while nibbling a piece of bacon.  She offered it to Molly once she saw her struggling awake.  Molly politely declined.  Door entered the room then, carrying a tray with more breakfast food.  She stopped and looked at Molly. 

“All night violin recital” said Molly yawning.

Door nodded in understanding.  She held out a plate.  Molly stretched the kinks out of her back and then shuffled over toward breakfast.  She downed a quick cup of coffee and tried some bacon.  It was delicious.  She almost felt human again.  When she made it back to her room, she was a little surprised that Sherlock’s door was open.  She peeked in his room, no sign of him, bed untouched.  She sighed and went back to bed.  At least it was quiet.

The rest of the day and most of the next night passed without Sherlock appearing.  Molly was getting worried.  Sherlock had to be roaming the Underside alone which was unnerving.  She wasn’t sure that he fully appreciated just how dangerous it could be.  It was late, but Molly was still sitting up reading when he finally breezed back into their rooms.  She turned to look at him when he entered, but he pointedly ignored her.  She watched him brush past, slamming the door of his room.  Thankfully, he left the violin alone.  Molly hoped he would be in a better mood in the morning.

But the next morning he had disappeared again.  This pattern continued for nearly two weeks.  He barely spoke to anyone and was rarely around.  Molly tried to ask him what he was doing once when she caught him leaving.  He paused for a moment and said, “Working” before continuing past her.  Neither Door nor Molly knew what to do about this.  They were both growing more concerned.  Molly worried that his foul mood had something to do with the kiss he had given her a few weeks ago.  Since then, he hadn’t kissed her again, and had seemed to be a little more hesitant to touch her. Molly wondered if she hadn’t pushed him too far.  

Ingress was also upset; she didn’t understand why her hero had disappeared.  Tired of the standoff, Molly gathered all of her courage, and decided to confront him.  He returned late one night; no one had seen him for two days.  He looked unwell; it was obvious he hadn’t slept or eaten much in recent weeks.  Under his eyes were dark circles and his cheeks looked sunken.  Molly leapt up from her chair and jumped in front of him.

“Sherlock, please wait, we need to talk,” she stammered.  She was stunned that he actually did.  But she soon wished that he didn’t.  He looked at her, eyebrows raised slightly. 

It was plain he wasn’t going to say anything, so she kept going.  “Um, I was just wondering what is going on…”

“What is going on is you wasting my time while I wish to bathe” he said flatly.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, why are avoiding me?  You’ve barely been home and we are all getting worried” she continued.

Now he actually sneered at her.  “First of all, this is not home.  Second of all, you are not my mother and I do not require looking after.  Now leave me be,” he spat.

Molly didn’t think, she just smacked him in the arm. He looked shocked, but Molly wasn’t finished.  “Stop it!  You don’t get to do this anymore!  You promised, you said we would be a team and I have given you plenty of space and you can’t treat me like this, not anymore,” she said forcefully.  Now she was getting really angry and more words poured from her.  “What is wrong?  Don’t lie and don’t just say something horrible to make me leave, because I won’t.  I will not run away like a little girl, not anymore.  And if you can’t talk to me, not even a little bit, then maybe next time you leave you should not come back again.”  Tears were pooling in her eyes.  She angrily wiped them away and continued to stare Sherlock down. 

He blinked, and then dropped his head.  Molly refused to cede any ground, standing firm with her hands on her hips.  Finally, he muttered, “Please, may I remove these filthy clothes and bathe first?  And then, I promise, we can talk.”

Molly nodded.  As he went to walk past her, she reached out to touch his arm.  “Wait, please, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have hit you and shouted” she said.

He smiled ruefully at her.  “It’s alright, I deserved it.”

He went into his room and lightly closed the door.  Now that he was gone, Molly allowed herself to cry a little, sinking into her armchair as she sobbed.  She ran back to her own room and washed her face.  She sat for a while, breathing slowly, forcing herself to calm down.  When she had fully collected herself, she went back to the sitting room.  Sherlock was already sitting there, knees drawn up to his chest.  He wore a long white linen shirt and loose black pants, his bare feet curled up at the edge of the seat.  Molly sat on her chair and waited.  He sighed and rubbed his hand through his damp curls.  “I’m sorry Molly; I have failed at my promise.”  He stared at the fireplace for a while.  “You may be right, perhaps I should go.”

“No! Please, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.  It’s just that I’ve been afraid, not knowing” she said.  “I know you don’t want people hanging on you all the time and nagging you, and I don’t want to irritate you, but I do care for you, and I wish you would let me help you, or just tell me when you need to be alone.”  She frowned and felt tears prickling again.  “Maybe I am trying to force you to be something you’re not, and that’s not fair either, I’m sorry Sherlock” she murmured.

He shook his head.  “No Molly, I made a promise to you.  I would not have done so if I felt it was unfair to me or I didn’t intend to keep it.  It’s simply … I haven’t …” He paused for a while, head sunk into his knees.  “It’s sentiment Molly.  I feel so much of it lately and it alarms me.  Part of me believes and will likely always believe caring to be a defect, a failing.  And yet, I grow fonder of Ingress and Door and I wish to be closer to you, but I can’t because I fear it will weaken me and I fear hurting you more.” 

He suddenly looked up at her, a strange light in his eyes.  “Molly I have had dreams recently, dreams about you and I don’t know how to interpret this data.  It’s as though I’ve been infected, drowning in feelings that I have never understood.”  He stopped again and stood up.  He walked closer to the fireplace and stood with his back to Molly.  “If I was a good man, I would tell you to go, before being associated with me causes you to come to grief or harm.  You should leave me, I’ve only brought you pain.”

“Shut up.” Molly stood behind him and wrapped her arms around him.  “I’m all grown up; I know exactly what I have gotten myself into.”  He turned to look at her, staring as though he hadn’t seen her in years.  He drank in every detail of her determined face.  He stroked her hair and face.  He could resist no longer, he began kissing her, lightly at first.  She responded with enthusiasm, pulling him closer to her and kissing him hungrily.  The kisses deepened. 

Molly felt Sherlock steering her backwards.  Then he pulled her onto his lap as he sat in his armchair.  They kissed a while longer, till Molly felt quite breathless and lightheaded.  She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heart.  Together they sat like that a while longer.  Sherlock quietly told her more about what he had been doing.  Indeed, he had been working, seeking out crimes to solve in the Underside.  He continued to search for information about Moriarty, but was still unsuccessful.  He had been running ragged in an attempt to ignore the growing feelings he felt.  He had also been resisting temptation of another sort.

“I was once offered cocaine as payment for my services.  I was bored.  It was difficult to turn it down Molly” he told her.

She responded by kissing him once again.  “There are other ways to alleviate boredom” she murmured against his neck.

He laughed a little, and then slid her feet back onto the floor.  He stood, wrapping her arms around him.  He looked shy and a little embarrassed. He rested his head in her hair.  “Molly, I would like to continue our conversation and … other activities in a more comfortable location.”  He began to blush, which was even more charming.  “I don’t want to seem forward, but perhaps we could resume our talk lying down in your bed.”  He looked so nervous, Molly was enchanted.  She smiled at him and led him to her room. 

That night they began a new habit of curling up together and whispering in her bed.  Neither of them was prepared to do much more than snuggle and kiss.  It was still too new and confusing.  They were both content to just kiss for now. Sherlock’s behavior outside their rooms remained mostly the same.  But when they were alone, he was very affectionate, and loved it when she ran her fingers through his hair.  Molly discovered that he was much more expressive when they were together in their rooms.  He would haltingly discuss his thoughts and feelings.  He was especially talkative when she curled up against his back, holding him close.  She treasured these moments together.  Occasionally he would actually sleep next to her.  Molly loved these nights best of all.  He looked so calm and peaceful as he slept.  He would talk in his sleep at times, often in other languages, usually French.  Molly would wrack her brain trying to remember her schoolgirl French classes when he babbled so. On a good night, she might be able to decipher a few words.  Sherlock was horrified to learn that he talked in his sleep.  He made Molly swear to never reveal it to anyone.

They spent their days exploring the Underside and continuing to establish Sherlock as the first detective ever in London Below.  At first, Sherlock was disappointed in the quality of the crime.  While there was plenty of theft and murder, there was little imagination in the acts.  Molly tried to explain that wishing for a clever serial killer was morbid, but Sherlock never quite understood.  People began to seek him out.  Molly was often called along to serve in John’s former role.  She gained even more respect for John now that she saw how difficult Sherlock could be when immersed in the chase.  He would insist that she accompany him but then insult her with his careless commentary.  Sherlock complained that both she and John were simply too short and could never keep up when he ran.  He also lamented that she had none of John’s capacity for violence or sharpshooting skills.  Molly chose to ignore this, like so many other comments made without thinking.  She merely demonstrated her own capacity for violence by kicking his shins. 

She was busy with her own work as well.  She set up shop at the Floating Market one night offering her basic medical skills.  London Below was devoid of proper medical care, unless one considered alchemy the height of the healing arts.  There were plenty of people in need of stitches and medical advice that didn’t involve bloodletting or leeches.   She was very popular, which brought about a visit from the head of the alchemists guild.   Door was called in to mediate, as the guild members threatened to use curses and poisons.  Of course, Sherlock did not take well to Molly receiving such threats.  The alchemists were much more amenable to dropping their complaints after he pointed out that some people, like Serpentine, for example, might not be amused when they discovered that the alchemists were not entirely successful at changing lead into gold.

Both Molly and Sherlock were also occupied with helping Door.  She was facing a steady stream of messages from people with problems.  As the current head of the House of Arch, she had allies to placate, enemies to negotiate with and many petty issues to resolve.  Sherlock actually proved to be a great help at this.  From some deep hidden reservoir, he brought forth diplomatic skills to rival his brother’s.  He also showed off his well-trained manners.  Molly wondered about his upbringing.  She wouldn’t have been surprised if he grew up in a castle on a lonely crag protected by dragons.    

On nights when she wrapped her arms around him, she tried to ask him about his childhood.  It was clear that it was primarily unhappy and lonely.  She told him about her own mostly solitary girlhood.  She mentioned her weak attempts at rebellion during university.  He countered with stories of discovering cocaine and being kicked out of university.  Molly also made the mistake of mentioning how she met the Marquis de Carabas when she was in university.  She could feel Sherlock grow tense, but he continued to ask questions about how they met.

“He could tell that I had this ability to sense death when I first met him, well, I chased after him actually, it was one of my stupider moments,” she admitted.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at this, but didn’t comment.

“He knew that my mother was dead, and that she probably killed herself” Molly continued.

Sherlock turned around and stared at her in confusion.  “Your mother committed suicide?” he asked.

“When I was a baby, I don’t remember her at all of course.  The Marquis explained that female Deathseers usually go mad, apparently motherhood is very hard on them, and it’s not unusual for them to kill themselves.”  She sighed, thinking of how sad her father always was, trying to raise a little girl on his own.  Sherlock leaned over and kissed her gently and pulled her to him.

“I’m sorry Molly, I never knew.  I deduced that your mother died when you were young, but I missed that you never knew her.”  He paused for a moment, breathing in her scent.  He continued hesitatingly, “When I was very young, I was very close to my mother, and Mycroft as well.  It was only as I grew older that I realized how unusual I was and how uncomfortable I made people.  Mother tried to help, but I started to push her away, by the time I left home, I think she was glad to be rid of me.  Still, I have some happy memories from when I was little.  I’m sorry you didn’t have that with your mother.”

“My father made up for it, he was very caring.  He always worked hard to do what was best for me” Molly explained.  “But I find it hard to believe that your mother was glad to be rid of you.”  Molly’s eyes grew sad.  “She was probably devastated when you, um, … died.”  Sherlock flinched and pulled away, trying to hide the tears that threatened.  Molly wanted to kick herself, why the hell had she said that?  “Sherlock, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, that was cruel,” she apologized.  She touched his shoulder, unsure if he was angry.  He allowed her to gather him up in her arms, and once safe in her embrace, he let a few tears fall.

“Molly, I want to go home” he mumbled into her chest.

“I know, I’m sorry, I promise I will keep trying to find a way” she vowed.  She was struck by a terrifying thought then.  What if Sherlock was able to return to his normal life?  What would happen then?  It stood to reason that whatever their odd relationship was, it would end if Sherlock could resume his previous lifestyle.  The thought made Molly want to sob.  Still, she had promised to help him, and she always would.  She kept holding him till they drifted off to sleep. 


	21. Chapter Twenty

One day, seemingly out of the blue, Sherlock decided that both Molly and Ingress needed fencing lessons.  Ingress was, as ever, very curious about Sherlock and was always happy to spend time with him.  Molly suspected that this decision was spurred in equal parts by boredom and concern.  She knew that Sherlock worried about her safety, as well as that of Door and Ingress.  He would never admit it, of course.  Whenever she asked, he simply sniffed and pointed out her inability to serve as an acceptable replacement for John. 

Somewhere in the House without Doors he had found a variety of archaic weaponry.  He and Door occasionally went on expeditions to discover things throughout the house.  Door wasn’t sure exactly how many rooms there were, some had been closed to her when she was a child.  Now that she was the head of the family, she could access everything.  Molly and Ingress tended to sit out these expeditions.   Ingress was still unwilling to enter certain rooms, though she had begun to feel comfortable with going outside the house, as long as Sherlock and Door were with her. 

The fencing lessons had been going on for two days straight.  Door was already familiar with some basic sword fighting skills and had been pressed into service as Sherlock’s assistant.  She wasn’t sure how she felt about Ingress learning to wield weapons, but the little girl was eager to learn.  And besides, the Underside being what it was, better she learn how to defend herself.  Lessons were conducted in the entry hall, all the furniture had been shoved to the side or moved to other rooms.  Sherlock was a demanding teacher, which was no surprise to Molly.  He shouted at her and made her practice basic moves over and over again.  She was nearly exhausted, but he refused to let up.  At least he was kinder to Ingress, she was currently sitting on a chair by the wall, sipping water while Door sat and watched.  As he shouted another insult at her footwork, Molly was debating throwing her practice foil at his head when suddenly Door shouted.

“Temple and Arch!”  She stood and ran across the room.  Molly and Sherlock turned and watched as she leapt at the newly returned Marquis de Carabas, back after an absence of nearly three and a half months.  She enveloped him in a hug, which caused him to wrinkle his nose and push her away. 

“Heavens, Door, you smell like a barnyard, whatever have you been doing in my absence?”  He whipped out a handkerchief and a tiny silver box.  He dabbed some perfume on the handkerchief and sniffed it delicately.  Molly gawped at him.  He wore his ever present black coat, but had added a new mix of eccentric clothes and a massive feathered hat as well.  He looked like a Musketeer that had escaped from some experimental opera.  Door smacked his arm and began to cry.  This display merely made the Marquis roll his eyes and sigh.

“Yes, yes, I know, hurrah, I’m back, no need to blubber so.  It’s most unattractive you know, I’d offer my handkerchief but you’d only soil it,” he sniffed, waving his lacy handkerchief.

Now he turned to Molly and Sherlock.  It was plain for him to see that their relationship had changed.  He was pleased; obviously it was due to his helpful influence.  Perhaps he should consider offering matchmaking services.  He grinned at Molly and bowed to her.  Sherlock instantly stepped closer to her and scowled at the Marquis.  “Molly, my dear, lovely to see you as well, now please remain where you are, you reek as well” smiled the Marquis.

Finally, he noticed Ingress, still sitting near the wall, eyes wide.  His face softened.  He bowed to her as well and waited for Door.  She walked over to her sister and whispered something in her ear.  Ingress nodded and Door picked her up.  She carried her over to the Marquis.  “Ingress, this is the Marquis de Carabas, he was a friend of our father and saved my life a few times.  He’s my friend too, okay?”  Door explained to her sister.  Ingress nodded solemnly.  The Marquis smiled gently and shook her hand. 

“Now, I am rather hungry and all of you stink most unpleasantly.  I intend to eat, so I suggest you all bathe before I lose my appetite; it is quite foul in here.”  With a dramatic flourish, the Marquis strutted away. 

Door sighed and turned to her other guests.  She shrugged and said, “He’s right, I’m gonna go wash up, meet you back here for dinner in about an hour?”  Molly nodded and put her practice foil away.  Sherlock had folded his arms and was glaring at her darkly.  Molly reached out a hand and he took it, still frowning.  They returned to the guest suite.

_A little boy is hiding under the desk.  He is playing with some small toys and humming to himself.  There is an apple sitting next to him.  He takes a big bite out of it and resumes playing.  A woman enters the room and calls out “Portico?  Are you in here? Your father is not happy!” She looks around for a moment, but doesn’t see the little boy and leaves.  Portico giggles to himself._

As soon as they entered their room, Sherlock grabbed Molly and kissed her forcefully.  Molly kissed him back with equal passion.  She almost laughed at how possessive he was suddenly being.  He stopped and positively glowered at her.  Molly tried a reassuring smile and reached up to brush a curl away from his face.  “Sherlock, is something wrong?”  She couldn’t help herself, she giggled then.  Sherlock stormed away, slamming the door to his room then.  Molly sighed.  Men were just as bad as women sometimes she decided.

Molly was feeling quite disgusting anyway, so she took a quick bath, rubbing some of the soreness out of her legs.  She dressed and braided her hair.  Before leaving her room, she paused.  On her dressing table sat a bracelet.  It was made from the handle of a scalpel, the blade removed.  The metal had been heated and bent to form a bracelet.  Sherlock had found it at the Floating Market one evening, shortly after complaining about Molly not noticing some tiny detail during one of his cases.  He traded for it and gave it to her as an apology.  Molly hoped he would be reassured when he saw her wearing it.  He was sitting in his armchair when she left her room.  He had dressed to kill, wearing one of his favorite suits from Baker Street.  As he looked up at her, he drank her in, noticing the bracelet immediately.  He smiled and stood up, offering her his arm.  He whispered into her ear, “You look lovely Molly.”

She smiled back and kissed him quickly.  They left and adjourned to the dining room.

_A large crowd has filled the dining room.  The room has been decorated with flowers. All the people are dressed in their absolute finest.  Everyone is chatting and drinking.  A couple suddenly enters the room and everyone cheers.  The couple raises their joined hands and smile at their friends and family.  The crowd applauds as the couple kisses._

The Marquis de Carabas was already sitting at the long table, feet propped up on the table.  He had removed his hat and set it on an unlit candelabrum.  He smiled as Molly and Sherlock entered and raised his goblet to them.  Sherlock just scowled.  Ingress and Door entered shortly afterwards and took their seats.  De Carabas delicately sliced roast beef and served slices to everyone.  They all ate in silence for a while.  Finally Door began asking the questions on everyone’s mind.

“So, well, what happened?  Um, how did you escape?” she asked.

The Marquis lightly wiped his mouth and set his napkin down.  “I did not need to escape.  The Lady Olympia was satisfied with my services and allowed me to leave.”

“Services?” sneered Sherlock.

“Oh god, what did she want?” asked Door, the blood draining from her face.

“Tap dancing lessons” replied the Marquis dryly.  He took another sip from his goblet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, seriously what the hell happened?” asked Door.

The Marquis de Carabas raised an eyebrow and smiled.  “I told you all that I am willing to tell.  The important thing is that I have returned and I must calculate the full value of the various favors I have accumulated.”  He speared another bite of meat and ate it.  “And, I’m pleased to see that my dear friend Sherlock has ever so thoughtfully prepared another diversion for me, you see, I myself am a swordsman of no small talent.  Perhaps I can offer some instructions to improve your technique Sherlock,” he grinned.  Molly nearly groaned out loud, so much for a quiet and peaceful evening. 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and looked murderous.  He threw down his napkin and stood quickly.  “Splendid” he spat.  “I look forward to your lesson, shall we begin in a quarter of an hour?”  The Marquis nodded and resumed eating.  Sherlock stalked away. 

Door gave the Marquis a Look.  “Seriously?  Would it kill you to behave yourself?  Just for a little while?” she asked.

“I am only trying to assist my dear friend improve his skills” claimed de Carabas.  “Please excuse me, I must go and prepare for my lesson.”  He bowed and left the room.

Molly dropped her head in her hands and fought the urge to swear.  She looked over and noticed that Ingress actually looked very amused.  The little girl grabbed Door’s hand and dragged her from the room.  Molly followed them slowly.  The women settled themselves in some armchairs and waited for the men to return.  Sherlock returned first, he had changed out of his suit into what Molly still thought of as his “pirate on a day off” outfit.  As ever, he looked amazing.  The Marquis soon followed, having also changed.  He had removed his coat and now wore a pair of tight navy blue knee length breeches and flowing white shirt.  He also looked quite attractive.  Well, as long as they didn’t kill each other, it should be fun to watch, thought Molly glumly. 

They each picked up a fencing foil and saluted, then began to spar in earnest.   They both moved quickly as they deftly maneuvered around the room.  Neither spoke, both focused completely on the other.  Blades flashed and rattled against each other.  Door and Molly were both mesmerized by the speed and strength of the two men.  The battled for nearly forty five minutes.  Finally, the Marquis seemed to tire, and Sherlock moved in to strike.  But it was only a feint, and for a moment it looked like the Marquis would win.  Sherlock had anticipated the gambit and spun back, avoiding the Marquis’s blade and then spinning once more, his foil now at the Marquis throat.  Now the men stood still, both panting heavily.  The Marquis smiled and bowed.  “Well met, good sir, indeed perhaps there is little for me to teach you” he grinned.

Sherlock glared at him for a second more before lowering his foil and nodding.  He reached out and the two adversaries shook hands.  Molly let out a breath.  Ingress stood and clapped enthusiastically.  The Marquis sauntered over to a chair and sat with a sigh.  “Delightful, haven’t had a decent fight in years, I commend you Sherlock, we must do that again sometime” he said.

Door went and fetched some pitchers with water and dessert.  Together they all sat and drank and nibbled on more chocolate cake.  The Marquis told them a little more about his recent exploits.  He had left Olympia three days prior and had spent the days afterwards rambling about.  He had heard of the new detective, Vernet and his assistant, Mary, the healer.  He congratulated them on their success but also warned them to be cautious.  He had learned some new information during his time with Olympia.  She had extensive contacts across the world and knew much about what happened not only in London Below, but many other cities.  The Marquis had carefully manipulated one of their conversations to discover what she knew about Deathseers.  

“She had never met a Deathseer, she actually told me they didn’t exist, which I did not bother to correct.  I mentioned that I had heard of one in Dublin, but she told me that was nonsense.  She did tell me something interesting about Dublin though.  Some years ago, two men rose to power there and were essentially ruling the whole of Dublin Below.  They were able to build a gang so vicious and evil that everyone feared them.  After a decade or so of terrorizing all of Dublin, the two men disappeared completely and without explanation.  No bodies were ever found; some people thought they moved on to a new city.  However, there were some who believed that somehow, the two were able to break free of Dublin Below and join the world above.”  He paused to drink some water.  “While it sounds unlikely, it could be the Deathseer master criminal you seek, Molly” he finished.

“What were their names?” she asked. 

“No one knew their true names of course, they were called the Wolf and the Tiger” answered the Marquis.  “After they disappeared, their gang fell apart and things went back to normal, well as normal as these places can ever be.

Molly pondered this new information.  There was still no conclusive evidence one way or the other.  They were still no nearer to discovering whether or not Jim Moriarty had any connection to the Underside.  The discussion moved on to other topics about the latest news and rumors of the Underside.

Molly left the group first, she was tired from the fencing lessons and wanted to relax.  She had changed into her nightgown and sat in her armchair to read.  She suspected Sherlock would be in a bit of a mood after the triumphant return of the Marquis.  She hoped to relax a little at least before he began torturing his violin.  When Sherlock returned to their rooms, he was oddly quiet.  Molly had heard him come in, and could hear him pacing in the back of the room.  She stood up and turned around, not sure what sort of mood she would find him in.  She whispered “Sherlock?”

He stopped and looked at her.  She stood outlined in the firelight, her hair and skin glowing with light.  Her nightgown was among the least sexy articles of clothing Sherlock Holmes had ever seen.  And yet, the sight of her in it provoked something in him.  The temptation had been growing for some time, now it would not be denied.  He strode swiftly across the room to her, gathering her close and kissing her deeply.  The happy hums she made in her throat only added to his desire.  His hands roamed over her body.  He pulled away for a second, trying to catch his breath.

“Molly, I want … I want more…” he murmured, his hands gliding across her lower back, lips brushing her ear.

He pressed his body close to her, his hands continuing to move to more sensitive regions of her body.  Her eyes grew wide as she realized what it was he wanted.  She smiled back at him and suppressed a giggle.  This was not the mood Molly was expecting.  She grabbed his hand and led him to her room.  He stopped her before she could climb into her bed.  He pulled his shirt off, earning a gasp from Molly.  He stared at her hungrily.

“Molly, may I take this off?” he asked, lightly touching her nightgown.

She was about to grin and nod, when the image of the woman whose body he had identified from “not her face” came crashing into her mind. That and the memory of what he had said last Christmas.  Her face fell.  She stepped back, covering her chest with her arms. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, um, I just remembered Christmas” she said in a whisper.  She could feel herself blush and wished she could stop.  She wrapped her arms tighter around herself and stared at the floor.   

Sherlock looked stricken.  He still didn’t quite understand why he had acted so cruelly in the past.  “Oh Molly, please, I know what I said was awful, all of it.  I don’t understand why I did it, please forgive me, I will always be ashamed of my behavior that night.  I’m sorry.”

He hated himself then, hated what a monster he was sometimes. This was why he never tried to have friends or lovers before. He was doomed to fail.  He backed away from her; certain she hated him as well.  Molly rushed over to him before he could reach the door. 

“Wait, Sherlock, it’s okay.  You already apologized to me and I already forgave you.  It’s just, I’m nervous.” She giggled for a second, tension bubbling over.  She breathed in deeply.  “I don’t want to disappoint you.  I mean I thought you and that woman …” she trailed off.  He shook his head vehemently.  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and trusting.  She wrapped herself in his arms. She mumbled into his chest.  “I guess I am just surprised, I didn’t expect that you would ever want me, I’m still trying to understand it.”  She closed her eyes and reached down to pull her nightgown off. 

Sherlock drank in everything about her body, the changing colors of her skin, the birthmark above her right breast, the soft curves of her hips.  He marveled at what she was offering him.  She tugged him back towards the bed.  They lay tangled together, each exploring the other’s body.  Sherlock felt his mind quiet as he cataloged all the new sensations.  The feeling of Molly’s hands on his body was marvelous.  He realized what an idiot he was to deny himself this.  A smug new voice in his mind chided him; he could have had all this, for years, and was too stupid to realize it.  He could have been enjoying the soft secret noises Molly made when his lips brushed her nipples.  He could have been reveling in the feel of her fingernails lightly running down his sides.  Somehow, without realizing it, they removed the last items of clothing on their bodies.  This was even better, more to touch and taste.  He lay over her body, luxuriating in the contact of skin to skin.  He didn’t remember when he had last felt so safe and content.  Everything was going quite nicely indeed till Molly suddenly spoke up from somewhere underneath him.

“Sherlock, wait, um, we can’t, well, I mean we don’t have any protection” she whispered.

“What?  Like a gun?”  Sherlock was confused, in his haze of desire; he had no idea what she was talking about.

Molly thought he was teasing her for a second.  Then she realized he really didn’t get it.  “Um, no, it’s just, it’s probably not a good idea for me to get pregnant” she said cringing.

“Oh” He lay back and took a deep breath. “Oh” He hadn’t considered that possibility.  He had spent so long ignoring sexual desire that he had never had to plan in advance for such activities.  This was certainly an unfortunate turn of events.  It might have been humorous if it weren’t so irritating.  He suspected that somewhere, John and Mycroft were laughing at him without knowing why.

Molly was snuggling back up alongside him.  She had watched his face closely as the realization of what she was saying washed over him.  There had been a brief, panicked second when she feared he would go on a rampage, tearing the Underside apart in search of a box of prophylactics.  He was calming down, but clearly frustrated.  She ran her fingers along his thigh. 

“You know, there are, um, some other things we could do, which are also rather nice.  Shall I show you?” she asked.

He looked a little confused once more.  Molly thought back to her University days and some of the many lessons her old friend Rebecca had shared.  Rebecca had given her lots of interesting ideas about pleasing boys and some very useful hints.  Molly prayed that she remembered everything correctly.  She smiled at Sherlock and resumed kissing him.  She began with his lips but didn’t stop there.  Sherlock was still trying to process all of the previous new sensory information when he was overcome by the new sensations.  Molly’s lips, tongue and fingers were everywhere.  The noise of his racing mind quieted and stilled as he approached climax.  When he came, it was the most glorious single sensation he had ever experienced.  As his racing heart slowed, he felt Molly wrap her arms around his middle, pressed against his side.  That smug voice in his mind returned, taunting him.  Perhaps experiencing a little genital stimulation every now and then wasn’t such a bad idea after all?  Years had been wasted, not experiencing this, not having all this with Molly.  She had offered him so much and he had been too stupid to realize it.  He pulled Molly up, kissing her, tasting himself on her lips.  She was grinning, quite pleased with herself.  They lay tightly wrapped together, each catching their breath.  After a few moments, Molly spoke. 

“Would you like to take a bath?” she asked trailing her fingers across his chest.

A thought occurred to him.  “Shouldn’t I reciprocate first?”  He wasn’t sure of the proper etiquette in these situations; he didn’t want to be inconsiderate.

She smirked and lowered her eyes.  “Oh, well I mean, I thought we could take the bath together and see what happens” she murmured into his chest. 

She stood, taking his hand and pulling him from the bed.  Still slightly dazed, he followed her into the bathroom.  She turned on the taps, filling the bathtub with warm water.  She added some drops of lavender oil, scenting the steamy air.  As the water continued filling the tub, Sherlock stepped in.   He leaned back, shivering slightly from the rush of water over his still sensitive body.  Then Molly stepped into the tub.  After turning off the taps, she leaned back against his chest.  The water was warm and soothing.  Sherlock felt his mind returning to its typical frenetic pace.  A question occurred to him.

“Molly, are you going to continue to use so many euphemisms every time we engage in sexual acts?  I hope not, I find it too confusing” he said as he stroked her arms.

Molly splashed him.  “Hey!  You started it!”

“I did not.  I am always very direct in my speech” he retorted.

“Oh you are not!  You said you wanted more, you didn’t specify what that meant!”

“I wasn’t sure what exactly I wanted right then, or how you would react.  I told you, I’ve never done this before” he reasoned.  

Molly was overjoyed that he wanted to continue this new facet of their relationship.  She was giddy too.  Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined joking with Sherlock about sex.  “Well.  If you would like me to be more direct, how about this?”  Molly couldn’t believe what she was about to say.  She took a deep breath, “You offered, in a most gentlemanly fashion to reciprocate.  I suggest that you use your very clever fingers to digitally manipulate my clitoris till I experience an orgasm.  Or possibly more than one.”

She was absolutely bright red now.  Sherlock chuckled softly into her neck.  “Well said Molly Hooper, I shall endeavor to meet the challenge you have laid before me.”  He was in fact, more than able to succeed at the task she had set for him.  Molly realized there were definitely advantages to sharing a bath with a genius violin virtuoso.

A few days later, the next time Molly saw the Marquis de Carabas, he was grinning like the Cheshire cat.  He waved her closer, all the while smiling.  He pulled a paper bag from some inner pocket and waved it at her.

“A small gift for you, my dear” he drawled.

It was obvious he was up to no good, but Molly still came over and took the bag.  She frowned at him before she opened the bag.  As soon as she looked inside she let out a girlish squeak and felt her cheeks flush.  The bag was filled with condoms.  She crumpled the top of the bag closed and smacked the Marquis.  She shoved the bag towards him as he laughed.

“You don’t want it?” he smirked.

“You are horrible! Where did you get these? Never mind, don’t answer that” Molly squealed.

“I can always find someone else who would appreciate my gift you know” he said, reached out toward the bag.

Molly pulled the bag back to her chest.  Mortifying as it was to be given birth control by de Carabas, she knew it wouldn’t be easy to find them in London Below.  She spun around to run back to her rooms.  Behind her, she heard the Marquis call out, “You’re welcome!”

She whirled back and glared at him, “Never, ever will you mention this to anyone! Ever!”  The bastard just winked at her and laughed harder.  Now Molly had to figure out how to keep Sherlock from figuring out where she had gotten her ill-gotten supplies.  It was useless to try, she’d never succeed.  She hoped his interest in using the items would overpower any questions about their origin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I should apologize or not for this chapter. I have sincere doubts about my ability to write a decent/convincing sex scene and originally had no plans to do so. I honestly don't know where the bathtub conversation came from, hopefully it wasn't too ridiculous.
> 
> Well, I suppose in the words of many MST3K fallen henchmen - "I regret nothing!"


	22. Chapter Twenty One

_London Above_

Now that Jim knew that Sherlock was alive, he felt a new excitement growing.  He had a delightful new game to amuse himself with.  After spending a relaxing evening cuddling with Sebastian, Jim was ready to start the hunt.  First he summoned Harold once more.  The three of them spent an exhausting day prowling along the riverfront, checking if Molly and Sherlock had only crossed the river.  Harold whined about all the walking and Sebastian dug up a wheelchair for him from somewhere.  Jim thought the sight of Sebastian pushing the old man all over London was hilarious.  Sebastian was just glad that Jim was in a mellow mood.  Jim strolled along, like he hadn’t a care in the world, sending the occasional text or answering calls.  Harold was unable to detect even a slight hint that Molly or Sherlock had been anywhere on the opposite bank of the Thames.  Jim began making calls to international contacts.  The detective and the pathologist had to have gone somewhere.  They would be found eventually.  After dismissing Harold, Jim wanted to go home. 

He was still in a very gentle, loving mood.  These were the times Sebastian lived for.  He had loved Jim Moriarty for many long years.  Sebastian knew that Jim didn’t really love anyone and was likely incapable of feeling actual love.  But when Jim was in these moods, it was easy to forget how he really was.  They had met as boys.  Sebastian was lost, he had run away at age 9 to avoid another beating at his father’s hands.  No one ever came to look for him.  There were still plenty of other kids around, he wasn’t missed very much.  Eventually Sebastian had met the Man under the Bridge and became his property.  The Man was mostly good to him; he fed him and took care of him.  He never beat his boys, only loved them.  Jim was already living with the Man when Sebastian came.  He took in Jim because he recognized a fellow Deathseer when he saw one.  He brought Sebastian under his wing because he thought Jim needed a friend his own age.

The Man under the Bridge taught both Jim and Sebastian well.  He taught them to survive in the weirdness of Dublin Below and how to use their talents.  Both boys grew strong.   Jim was the first to grow bored.  He always wanted more.  Sebastian just wanted to always be with Jim.  So they killed the Man under the Bridge.  The Man had been expecting it for some time; honestly he hoped they would get on with it, he was tired of waiting.  He was proud of them both.  They far surpassed their teacher’s own abilities. 

Once their mentor was dead, Jim and Sebastian began gaining more power.  Jim was a genius and easily manipulated people into doing whatever he wanted.  They were able to practically rule all of the Underside of Dublin, a feat that had last happened centuries ago.  Sebastian was content with what they had, but Jim never was.  Eventually Jim grew bored with living underground.  It was supposed to be impossible for the people who fell between the cracks to return to the normal life of the Above world, but somehow, Jim managed to do it.  And as with everything he did, Sebastian was at his side.

Building a worldwide criminal empire had been fun, but it got boring too, just like everything else.  Jim was despondent then, nothing could amuse him anymore.  Sebastian had been worried that Jim would kill himself, so dark were his moods.   But then Sherlock Holmes started interfering.  The detective made everything fun again and Jim was delighted.  But his happiness was short lived.  Even a worthy opponent could only be entertaining for so long.   So Jim had planned to destroy the man.  Somehow the bastard had managed to fake his death.  Chasing the dead man was so amusing that Jim forgot his fury for a little while. 

For the first few days, Jim was content to spend his time with Sebastian while their worldwide associates searched for any sign of Sherlock and Molly.  But as everyday passed with no new information, Jim grew more agitated.  They had carefully followed Mycroft and John, but it became obvious that neither knew of Sherlock’s miraculous survival.  Molly Hooper was widely reported as missing in the media.  She was the one that helped him.  Jim became manic, overflowing with rage at the incompetence of his minions.  He became more involved in the search.

Almost four months after Sherlock’s fall, Jim was standing back on the banks of the Thames.  He had never bothered to go down to the area that Sherlock and Molly had disappeared from, too messy.  But now, with all leads dried up and no progress, he wanted to see it for himself.  Jim walked back and forth carefully.  He studied the area, seemingly focusing on every last rock.  He stopped suddenly.

“Harold said that Molly cut herself somewhere around here, right?” he asked Sebastian.

Sebastian nodded.  He didn’t know why that was important.

Jim groaned and pulled at his own hair.  He ran back to the stone wall, running his fingers along the masonry.  When he turned back to Sebastian, his face was contorted into an insane grin.  “Oh Molly, you have a secret!  She summoned someone or something, I know where the little mouse has hidden her dream lover!  The bitch has gone to the Underside.” Jim laughed as he realized how they had managed to remain hidden from him.  He waved Sebastian over to his side.  “Put your hand right here” he commanded.

Sebastian placed his hand against the stone wall of the Embankment.  He could feel a strangeness there.  He frowned, unhappy about the implications.

“You can feel it, can’t you, it’s a fucking door to London Below.  They didn’t go over the river, they went under it,” Jim hissed.  He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back. 

“Come on, I’m tired of standing in this shit.  Let’s go” ordered Jim.

Sebastian sighed in relief.  For a moment, he was afraid Jim would force him to find the door and enter it.  He had no desire to go back to life in the Underside.  They returned home and Jim resumed contacting a different sort of associate.  It wasn’t easy finding someone who could go between the two Londons.  Most of the people who were able to move between Above and Below were pathetic failures no matter what world they inhabited.  Some of their associates were ordered to search London Below.  Most of them never returned from the Underside at all.  The associates that did return found nothing new.    Jim had a few of them killed as punishment for his frustration.  After another month of fruitless efforts, Jim decided to send in his best man.

Sebastian had been afraid of this ever since Jim had come to the conclusion that Molly and Sherlock had escaped to the Underside.  He knew that Jim would probably eventually try to send him to London Below.  The thought of returning to that existence terrified Sebastian.  Freeing themselves from the Underside of Dublin had been difficult and painful.  Sebastian was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to do it a second time.  He didn’t want to be stuck back underground.  He knew Jim would never deign to return to that life.  Sebastian also knew that he would do whatever Jim ordered him to do.

It was nearing midnight the night that Jim demanded Sebastian return to the Underside.  Jim didn’t want to lose his Tiger, but it was much more important that Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper be found.  They had spent the day together, lazing around in bed.  Jim knew that Sebastian was fond of such nonsense; it would be nice to give him a little fun.  Now Jim had redressed in a suit and tie.  He was ready for business.  Sebastian was watching him warily from the bed.  He had a strong hunch where this evening was going.

“Get dressed, Bass.  Time to go to work” Jim ordered.

“Sure, what’s the plan?” asked Sebastian.  He stood and began pulling on underwear.

Jim sighed and closed his eyes.  He rolled his head from side to side, stretching his neck and fighting the urge to hurt Moran.  “Don’t ask questions.  Wear something sturdy, time for some hunting.”  He left the bedroom.

Sebastian dressed, choosing his clothes with care.  He pulled on his boots and tied them tightly.  Jim was waiting downstairs.  They went to the car and Jim told the driver where to go.  Sebastian tried to stay calm, but felt himself trembling.  There was no guarantee that he could return from London Below.  He could be separated from Jim forever.   It wasn’t long before they were standing down on the banks of the Thames, in front of the hidden door.  Sebastian didn’t bother to argue.  He just listened to Jim’s orders.

“Find them.  Keep them alive, I want to be there when they die. I will be the one to kill them when I am satisfied.  Do not let them know you are searching for them, understood?” Jim stared intently at Sebastian as he delivered his instructions.

Sebastian nodded, he ducked his head down.  Christ, he was close to tears.

Jim stroked his cheek and pulled him close.  “It has to be you. You understand don’t you?  Find them and come back and tell me everything.  We can do it together.” Jim whispered some more tender lies in Sebastian’s ear.  Finally he sent Sebastian on his way.  Jim left before Sebastian opened the door.  He had no intention of having anything to do with London Below.

Sebastian could feel the pull of the Underside as he approached the door.  It was hard to resist, it was where he belonged after all.  He touched the door and felt the glamour that hid it.  It was easy to remove it and open the door.  There was nothing particularly magical about the door; it opened to a dank tunnel.  He could feel the humid, stinking air flow from the tunnel.  Damn it.  That was one of the worst things, the damp.  You were never dry when you lived under the fucking dirt.  His heart was pounding, he felt like a fucking kid again.  He fumbled for a cigarette and lit it as he stepped through the door. 

Sebastian spent his first week in London Below getting his bearings.  It wasn’t easy. Once he had ruled the Underside of Dublin, but now he was lost.  London Below didn’t always exactly correspond to the London he knew.  Landmarks were sometimes not where they belonged.  Buildings that were planned but never built existed in the Underside.  Buildings that had been torn down a hundred years ago popped up and disappeared again.  You could never be sure if you were in the right time either.  There were times when Sebastian knew he was wandering through a slice of the past.  It was possible to become stuck in these bits of lost time.   Becoming trapped in 19th century London was a very real concern. 

London Below was full of its own tribes and customs that Sebastian was unfamiliar with.    He was glad for his gift then.  He spent a lot of time being invisible, observing and listening.  He took his time getting comfortable with London Below.  In some ways, it was nice to have a break from Jim.  It had been a long time since Sebastian Moran was on his own.  He liked the freedom that came with living life alone.  A little over a month passed in this fashion.

Once Sebastian knew London Below well enough, he started his search.  He listened to the local rumors.  It wasn’t long before he heard about the new detective.  Solving crimes was a novel idea in the Underside.  Most of the residents of the Underside had no concept of justice.  Theft and murder, while recognized as unpleasant were also considered normal facts of life.  Apparently the detective also had a little helper, a woman.  She was also providing an unusual service, some basic medical skills.  There were no trained doctors or nurses in London Below.  Someone who could give stitches was a major medical advancement.  At first, Sebastian couldn’t believe that they had made it so easy.  They had barely bothered to hide themselves.  For Christ sakes, she was going by the name “Mary,” how obvious.  He even watched them a couple of times at different Floating Markets.  The two refugees from the real world hadn’t even bothered with disguises.  It was almost insulting, how little they had tried to protect themselves.  Sebastian began thinking up ways to locate and capture them.  He was in no hurry; it wasn’t like it would be difficult.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

The next few weeks were some of the best of Molly’s life.  True, it wasn’t perfect, but all in all, things were quite nice.  Sherlock acted the same as always when they were in public, he had no interest in public displays of affection.  However, when they were alone he was completely different.   Sherlock Holmes, some years later than most, had discovered the joy of sex.  He was curious and eager to experiment.  Molly was a very willing participant.  They were both trying to figure out how to navigate their relationship as well.  Sherlock had done excellent work at keeping his more vicious comments to himself, but he still had trouble at times understanding what could be hurtful. 

He learned that it was never a good idea to comment about a woman’s weight the hard way.  One evening as Molly sat astride him, he happily noted that she had gained at least three pounds.  He was startled when she leapt off of him and glared at him.  Asking her if this irrational outburst was related to her menses did not help matters and he found himself being shoved out of bed.   She then dragged him across the room and pushed him out the door.  As she slammed and locked the door, he finally realized perhaps he had done something wrong. 

He wrapped a robe around himself and sat waiting in the sitting room.  He knew Molly wouldn’t stay mad for long.  After a moment, he put the kettle on.  He was pleased that the shriek of the kettle worked its magic and drew Molly out of her room.  He fixed two cups of tea while she stood in the doorway frowning.  He handed her tea to her after he properly prepared it.  He watched her as he sat back down in his chair.  She sighed and came to sit in the other chair.  Molly decided it was time to share some vital information with the man she was sleeping with.

“Sherlock, it’s obvious your brother or someone failed to share some key facts of life with you.  Firstly, never ever tell a woman that she has gained weight, the few times it might be a welcome observation are extremely rare.  Also, don’t ever ask a woman if she’s acting unreasonable because of her ‘menses’.  Women rarely like to discuss hormonal fluctuations unless they bring it up first.  Oh, while we’re at it, never ask a woman if she’s pregnant or congratulate her for being pregnant unless she tells you first.  I suppose I’ll think of some more eventually, but that should be a good start.”  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, breathing in the steam from her tea.

“Ah.  I suspect John may have been remiss in his instructions as well, though in fairness, I often wasn’t listening.  And Mycroft is among the last individuals I would ever tolerate any advice from.”  He looked down at his hands, then back at her face.  “I’m sorry Molly” he said.

She smiled back at him.  “It’s okay; I know you weren’t trying to be mean.  Besides, sometimes I need to remember to be less sensitive.  We’ll both just have to work at it.”  She took another sip of tea and then crossed the room to stand in front of him.  He pulled her on to his lap and kissed her.  After a moment, Molly stopped.  “Actually, I’ve noticed that you’ve put on weight as well.  Your cheeks are filling out a bit” she said as she stroked his face lightly.

He made a face.  “Yes, well Ingress is quite dogged in her quest, I remain unable to thwart her ongoing quest to force feed me.”

Molly laughed and kissed him some more.  After a while, she whispered in his ear “Shall we return to our previous activities?”  He responded by picking her up and carrying her back to bed.

Of course, Sherlock was also busy with other things besides cataloging Molly’s many delighted reactions to his ongoing exploration of sex.  Somehow, their duel had made Sherlock and the Marquis de Carabas tolerate each other.  They would never be bosom companions, but had stopped most of the tireless sniping at each other.   While it was a relief to no longer fear them killing each other, their new cease fire did present some problems for Molly.  Now she had to deal with both of them instructing her in the art of fencing and various forms of self-defense. 

They had moved the training arena back to the gymnasium that was attached to the house.  It was bad enough when only Sherlock was yelling at her clumsy footwork.  Now there were two of them pointing out her every mistake.  Molly tried to keep Ingress around during training sessions.  Both men were slightly better behaved in her presence.  Ingress also seemed to enjoy learning how to wield a sword and throw knives.   She had alarmingly good aim for a six year old.  Molly was improving, but Sherlock still felt she was far too nice to ever be any sort of a decent fighter.  He desperately hoped she would never have to use the skills he was teaching her.

One evening, a month or so after having begun the newest phase of their relationship, Sherlock and Molly were about to set out for the Floating Market to seek out clients.  They had only just left, when the Marquis de Carabas materialized next to them.  Sherlock huffed and glared at him.  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Helping you.  I just remembered that to get to this particular market, you will have to travel through some unpleasant areas.  I anticipated my offer being welcomed with open arms, and yet I am met with suspicion, it’s a wonder I offer to help anyone” grumbled the Marquis.

“Well, which way do we need to go?” asked Molly before either man could continue to bicker.

“Through some caves, follow me.”  The Marquis led on through tunnels and passages neither Sherlock nor Molly had ever seen before.  They were deep underground, in ancient caverns.  Painted on the walls was a wild assortment of figures in bright colors.  Molly stopped to look at some of them more closely.  They didn’t look like any kind of cave art she had ever seen in her art history textbooks.  Sherlock and de Carabas were arguing about something pointless.  Molly had been ignoring them for the last ten minutes as they bickered.  Both men were so busy fighting that neither had noticed that Molly was falling behind them.  Molly was studying an image that sort of looked like an orange and purple train when she felt a sharp sting behind her ear. 

“Ow, Shit!” she exclaimed.  She swatted at her ear, thinking it was an insect.  She found a small dart instead.  She looked at for a fraction of a second before collapsing to the ground.

Sherlock was still deeply focused on his current argument.  “It’s obvious that Richard the Third had nothing to do with the disappearance of the princes, any idiot could see it!”

“Hah! It just so happens that I’ve personally spoken with Tower guards who were there and saw the boys being bricked up!” howled the Marquis.

“Yes, well given your flair for the dramatic, I understand this is a difficult request, but please, stop being so utterly ridiculous!” smirked Sherlock.

“Me? Dramatic? Speak for yourself!” sneered de Carabas.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. Something was wrong. “Where’s Molly?”  He looked all around him, no Molly.  He ran back the way they had come.  It wasn’t long before he found the distinctive marks of a person being dragged away.  He immediately spotted the discarded dart and a paintbrush with bright green paint still dripping off.  He glared at the Marquis.

De Carabas folded his arms across his chest.  He was deeply annoyed with himself; the whole purpose of him coming with them was to prevent such an occurrence.  “Hell’s teeth, they’ve got her” he muttered.

“Who?” demanded Sherlock.

“Feral cave children” responded the Marquis.

Sherlock stared at him for a second before lunging at him.  He threw a few frantic punches that the Marquis was easily able to dodge. “Stop lying!” shouted Sherlock as he artlessly swung at the other man.

The Marquis leapt to the side and quickly kicked Sherlock’s legs out from under him. Both men were panting as they lay sprawled on the ground. “I’m not lying!” Sherlock snorted with derision.  “Alright, not right now at least!  These caves are filled with lost children, all the damn paintings are at knee height, or didn’t you deduce that?” sneered de Carabas.  He stood up and adjusted his coat.  “That’s why I offered to accompany you; the caves can be dangerous, especially to females.  They’re always looking for a mother, and clearly they decided Molly was a good choice.”

Sherlock was overcome with indecision, whether or not to resume hitting the other man or to believe him.  The Marquis was walking away, following the drag marks.  Sherlock chose to follow along.  A few feet back it was easy to see that the Marquis was right about the children.  There were tiny footprints in the soft dirt.  The drag marks led to a crack in the cave wall.  Sherlock waved his torch inside the crack, a hail of tiny darts shot out.   He leapt back and none of the darts were able to puncture his coat.

The Marquis tried now.  “Listen you brats, give her back right now! She doesn’t belong to you” he said firmly.  This was met by some rude noises and childish giggles.  Both men faced each other, one on either side of the crack.  They glowered at each other.  Suddenly, there was the sound of rushed whispers and a flurry of movement from within the crack in the cave wall.  The children were dragging their prize deeper into their lair.  The Marquis didn’t hesitate, and plunged in after them with Sherlock right behind him.  The children could be heard but not seen.  The crack widened, but the passageway was full of fallen rock. The children knew where they were going and were able to move quickly through narrow spaces.  Sherlock and de Carabas were having a more difficult time.  Neither man was feeling particularly inclined to help the other.  Odd whispers and giggles bounced off the cave walls, further disorienting the two men.  After clambering over another pile of rocks the men stopped. Separate branches opened up, with no sign of which way the children had carried their prize.

Sherlock paused to catch his breath.  He looked murderously at the Marquis, who did not look nearly as afraid as he should in Sherlock’s opinion.  “You did this, didn’t you?  You set us up” hissed Sherlock.

The Marquis, like all bad men accused of something they had no hand in, was deeply affronted.  “I most certainly did not!  Why the hell would I want those savages to steal Molly?” Sherlock was not going to admit it, but the man did have a point.  He studied the ground carefully.

“There’s a spot of fresh green paint here, let’s go” he barked.

The men raced down the cave tunnel.  The ceiling became lower till both had to nearly crawl.  The disturbed dirt told Sherlock they were still clearly on the right track.  Suddenly, the tunnel ended and the men tumbled out into a brightly lit arena.  They shielded their eyes as they struggled to stand.  The first thing Sherlock noticed was that Molly was there, still asleep and propped up against an ancient pram.  She was guarded by a ring of little boys and girls wielding bows with arrows drawn.  Sitting on a throne made from discarded toys was a chubby little boy who looked to be about Ingress’s age.  He wore a leather loincloth that had a toy pistol tucked in the side. Around his neck were grimy strands of string, each bearing a plastic piece of junk. On his head was an elaborate crown made of the heads of action figures.  There were numerous other children, both boys and girls filling the huge space. Every child was painted with elaborate symbols.  And every child was armed with something deadly.

The little boy in the crown stood on his chair and pointed at the intruders.  “No fair!  She’s ours!  Finders keepers.”  He stuck his tongue out and waggled his fingers in his ears.  The other children chanted “Finders Keepers! Finders Keepers!”

The Marquis stood and offered a hand to Sherlock, who grudgingly accepted it.  Sherlock tried a stern approach; it had worked on him when he was that age.  “Now see here.  People can not own other people.  She is my friend and does not wish to stay here with you.”

The leader of the cave children crossed his eyes and repeated in a mocking tone “She is my friend and does not wish to stay here with you.”  The other children howled in delight.

Sherlock clearly had no experience with children.  He shouted “Stop that at once!”  All the children in the cave hooted and jumped up and down, repeatedly shouting “Stop that at once!  Stop that at once!”  They began laughing, pointing at the two men and making silly faces.

The Marquis sighed, he pulled Sherlock close and hissed in his ear, “Do you have a better plan? Or would you like me to try?”  Sherlock narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest.

De Carabas stepped forward.  “I understand that you are seeking a mother, is that why you have taken her?”

The leader was scratching his scalp with alarming vigor.  He flicked what he found at Sherlock before speaking. He spoke in the imperious tone of an absolute ruler.  “She will be our Mummy.  She will cook our breakfast and fix our tea and play hide and seek and read us stories and tuck us in every night and...” He paused, his eyes growing wide with bliss, smiling beatifically, “And she will kiss our boo-boos.”  The other children fell to their knees, whispering “kiss our boo-boos” repeatedly.

The Marquis looked unimpressed.  “Yes, but you know, Mummy will make you do other things too.”

The tiny chieftain scoffed.  “Ha!  No one can make me do anything.” He jutted his little chest out and stuck out his lower lip. 

“If you want a Mummy to do those nice things, she will make you do other nasty things.  Mummy will make you wipe that mess off your faces you know. And take away those nasty bows and arrows.  And make you wear trousers like a good little boy.  And make you eat your veggies, put away your toys, take a bath and go to bed early with no cake.” The Marquis paused then and made sure to pronounce this last sentence carefully, stressing each and every word.   “And Mummy will make sure you do your homework.” The children began to look worried.  They had heard of homework and knew it was something bad.

Their leader tried to remain resolute.  “No she won’t!  She can’t make us!” he pouted, chubby hands on his hips.

The Marquis smiled.  “Oh yes she can, that’s what mothers do, right?”  He elbowed Sherlock who nodded solemnly.

Heated whispers were now filling the cave.    Some of the children had put their bows down and were looking fearfully at Molly.  One little girl was sobbing “I don’t wanna do no homework!”  A fight had broken out between a few other children who were pushing each other and shouting.  Some children could be seen creeping away.  The little leader frowned and looked across the cave.  He took a plastic whistle from around his neck and blew it, silencing all the children. He raised his arms and surveyed the crowd.

He looked at Molly and made a face.  He sniffed and made an elaborate show of waving one hand while pinching his nose with the other.  “She’s stinky.  We don’t like her.  Get lost and take your stinky friend!”  He made a ferocious face at the two men, sticking out his tongue and baring his teeth.  The other children began chanting “Stinky! Stinky! Eww!”  They copied their leader’s facial expressions and made gagging noises.

Sherlock strode forward and picked up Molly.  The cave children were working themselves up into a frenzy now, shrieking their childish insults and sticking out their tongues.  The little boy stood on his throne looking at them with a frown.  He pointed a grubby finger at a far corner of the cave, where a larger opening could now be seen.  Sherlock hurried toward the exit, closely followed by the Marquis.  The howls of the children could be heard for a long time. 


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

Molly slept through the entire encounter, including the lengthy squabble between Sherlock and de Carabas on the way back to the House without Doors.  Sherlock carried Molly back to her bed, where Door helped to tend to her.  Door was surprised that they were able to get her back.  The only time she had ventured into those caves had been when she was under the protection of Hunter.  The sedative in the dart was powerful, Molly slept for a full day.  When she finally did wake up, she was disoriented and confused for another full day.  Which was why she missed the all the excitement when Richard returned. 

Sherlock was still watching over her when everything started happening.  It was late at night and Door should have been asleep.  Instead she was arguing with the Marquis.  She couldn’t believe that he had taken Sherlock and Molly through the caves.  The Marquis, of course, maintained that he had done nothing wrong, that it was all Sherlock’s fault for being so argumentative.  De Carabas was about to storm out in a huff, when they both heard it.  Someone was calling for Door, someone very familiar. 

“It’s Richard!  He’s coming back!  We have to go get him!” cried Door.

“Hold it, you can’t go dashing off, you’ll upset your sister.  I’ll do it” said the Marquis.

Door stared at him.  “Are you serious?  Because if you are just screwing around, I will kill you.”

“Hmph.  You wound me.  Just open something up for me to get close to where he is.  And let’s hurry, before he sobers up and leaves” snorted de Carabas.

Door looked uncertain for a moment, then nodded.  They went to the nearest exit.  She touched the door and smiled.  “Hah! He’s made it easy for us, he already made me a door!”  She concentrated and opened the door.  “Hurry up!” she yelled.  De Carabas stepped through and disappeared.

Door sat waiting anxiously.  It felt like it was taking far too long.  She nibbled her fingernails.  She forced herself to stop that bad habit and began picking at a loose thread on her shirt instead.  She looked at the clock and then realized that she didn’t leave a way for them to come back.  They’d have to walk the whole way.  She swore to herself and tried to make herself comfortable.  She drifted off to sleep for a while.  She woke up to the Marquis throwing open the door in a suitably dramatic fashion for such an occasion.

“Well, here we are, safe and sound, Lady Door may I announce the return of the Warrior of London, his meekness, Richard Mayhew!”  The Marquis clapped his hands slowly as Richard shuffled in from behind him.  Door nearly launched herself at him, but just stopped just as she reached him. She was grinning as she reached out and awkwardly patted his arm.

“Richard” she breathed.  “You’re here, you came back, I mean, I thought you were going to leave forever.”

Richard smiled back at her and gave her a shy hug. “I tried, I really did, um and things were actually better, but uh, I just couldn’t, and I didn’t know it would work, but, you know, I just tried it” he explained.

The Marquis rolled his eyes.  “Lovely, the gang’s all here and no one can speak coherently.  And now that Door is running some sort of refuge for recent arrivals from London Above, everything is just splendid.  I’m going to bed” he snorted.

Richard watched him as he left.  He looked back to Door.  She smiled at him once more and took him by the arm.  “You’re not the only guest.  Let’s go get something to eat and I’ll explain everything” she said.

The next morning, Molly felt nearly back to normal.  Sherlock had been hovering around her while she recovered.  He accompanied her to breakfast where they were surprised to see a new face.  Sherlock and Molly had both heard about Richard and his role in helping Door defeat the angel Islington.  Sherlock knew who the man was before anyone said anything.

“Congratulations Door, I see your friend Richard has returned” announced Sherlock as soon as they entered the room.

Richard jumped a bit, he recognized Sherlock from all the publicity following the jump from St. Bart’s.  Door had told him the whole story, but it was still hard to believe.  “Hey! He’s supposed to be dead.  It was in all the papers!” he exclaimed.

The Marquis, who was sitting opposite Richard, smirked.  “Yes, well, people not staying properly dead seems to be a real problem lately.  Door you really must do something about it. It’s getting embarrassing” he drawled. 

Molly smiled and introduced herself to Richard.  She liked him immediately; he was the sort of nice young man that she should have been attracted to.  They all chatted aimlessly.  Sherlock was slightly curious about Richard, but overall felt annoyed.  He was concerned about Molly and carefully observing her for any signs of ill-effects from the sedative.  The entire cave incident had deeply affected Sherlock.  He had always worried about Molly’s safety, now he was terrified.  At breakfast Molly was absorbed in talking to Richard and learning about him.  Later on, she noticed that Sherlock was acting differently.  He was more distant.  She didn’t like it at all, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up.  She suspected it had something to do with her abduction.  Actually, she hadn’t been that bothered by the incident.  Being unconscious for the whole episode had helped, but she was also confident that no matter how dangerous things got, between Sherlock and the Marquis she would always come out on top. 

Two days later, another Market was scheduled, this time at Big Ben, which was a much easier place to reach. Door and Richard were busy reconnecting; Molly suspected that they each felt more for the other than they were admitting.   Sherlock had tried to convince Molly to stay back with Ingress, but was unsuccessful.  They made it to the Market without any difficulty and were walking around observing the varied wares available.  Sherlock was still sulking slightly.  He didn’t want to admit to Molly that he was worried about her.  He still had difficulty managing the sentiment and emotions he felt for her.  And a part of him did loathe that he felt anything at all. 

A dark voice in his mind palace sneered at these idiotic feelings.  After all, feelings and sentiment were what had dropped him so low, were they not?  He never should have allowed himself to feel fear when he confronted Moriarty.  It was because he had allowed too many people to become close to him; they had infected him with their concern and left him vulnerable to emotions.  He was growing rather agitated as these thoughts swirled in his mind.  Molly noticed something was amiss and tried to hold his hand.  He yanked his arm away from her and tried to walk faster.  She caught up with him and grabbed his arm.

“Hey.  What is going on?” she asked frowning.

Sherlock was too irritated to stop himself.  “Again, do try to be more precise in your speech, Molly.  I have no idea what ‘going on’ is supposed to mean.”

She refused to rise to the bait and clutched his arm harder.  She forced him to turn and face her.  “Why are you upset?” she asked forcefully.

“I am not upset. Please let go of my arm,” he responded coldly.

Molly tried to reach up and caress his face.  Her eyes were full of love and concern and for a moment, Sherlock felt sick looking at them.  He pulled away from her firmly and hissed “Stop that.”  The love that had been plain on Molly’ face vanished instantly.  Now she looked wounded, and angry.

“Alright. I understand.  You don’t want me to touch you when others might see, only when it’s convenient for you.  You promised that we would be partners but you’re ashamed of me and my feelings.  Fine.  I’ll leave.”  She ran from him before the tears started in earnest.  Sherlock swore at himself and roughly ran his hands through his hair.  Once again, he had made an awful mess of things.  How many more times could he do so and honestly expect to be forgiven?  The whole affair with Molly was all a horrible mistake.  He should have known that he could never properly care for another person.  He watched her run through the crowd, then turned and resumed walking away.

Molly was heartbroken.  It was painfully obvious now how silly and stupid she had been.  She knew Sherlock Holmes would never be proper “boyfriend” material, and yet, she believed that their relationship was a good one.  She hadn’t minded that he was not affectionate in public, but his rejection of her touch had hurt her deeply.  Sherlock had even tried to warn her, and she was too foolish to listen.  She was crying as she ran, nose dripping, face red, all in all a complete mess.  As she neared the edge of the Market, she ran headlong into Old Bailey.  He had been trying to get her attention, but she was too distraught to notice.  He saw how upset she was and gave her a crushing hug.

“Here now, what’s the matter?  Take this, it’s clean, I think.”  He offered her a tiny embroidered handkerchief.  She took it and tried to dab at her eyes with it.

“I’m okay, I just realized what an idiot I’ve been” she said hiccupping.

“Oh now, you ain’t any sort of idiot, don’t be saying such nonsense” offered Old Bailey encouragingly.

Molly shook her head.  “I’ve got to go, thanks for your handkerchief, um, do you want it back?” she asked.

“Naw, you keep it, and no more crying, you’re a lovely girl and it’ll all be better soon” replied Old Bailey.  He smiled at her and patted her on the arm. The he remembered something else.  “Hey, you and that tall fellow are getting even more famous!  Coupla people been asking after you, more business for you both!  See! Ain’t all bad” he said.  She managed a small smile and thanked him for the good news.  She had no intention of doing any business ever again.  She fled the Floating Market and raced toward the House without Doors.

In another section of the Floating Market, the Marquis de Carabas had just arrived.  He wasn’t really looking for anything, just interested in learning the new gossip.  It was always best to keep abreast of whatever strange and wondrous things were happening in the Underside.  As he sauntered through the crowded stalls, he caught a glimpse of Sherlock, looking angry and striding away alone.  Interesting.  A little further on, he saw something that made him forget about the detective.  At the end of the row of booths, a man was standing talking to the woman running a stall filled with books.  What had caught the Marquis’s eye was that the man had hidden his true self under a glamour.  De Carabas couldn’t quite see what the man really looked like, but it was clear to him that the man had the gift of making such glamours, and strong ones too.  The Marquis did not know of anyone currently living in London Below with such a talent, so the man must be a new arrival, possibly a traveler from some other city.  The Marquis trailed after him for a while, to see what else there was to learn.  The man stopped at several booths and asked the occasional question before disappearing into the crowds.  Well, this was very interesting indeed.

Sherlock stayed away from the House without Doors for most of the night.  When he finally made it back to the guest suite, he discovered that Molly had taken most of her things.  She had obviously moved somewhere else in the house.  A few things were still scattered in her room, a pair of shoes, and a sweater and over on the dressing table, the bracelet Sherlock had given her.  He stared at it for a moment, turning it in his hands.  He tried to reassure himself that it was better this way.  He knew he was lying.  He returned back to his room to take a bath and try to sleep. Perhaps the two would clear his mind.

Door was sitting on the edge of Ingress’s bed listening sympathetically as Molly sobbed out her story.  When she came back from the Market, there was no one around.  Molly threw as many of her belongings as she could fit in the two bags she had brought with her and left the guest suite.  She was afraid that Sherlock would return at any moment and resume destroying her.  Molly was able to go to Ingress’s room without any help.  She knew that Ingress wasn’t sleeping there, so she decided to hide out there for the time being.  Now Door had found her and wanted to know why she was sleeping in her sister’s tiny bed.  Molly tried to tell her tale without tears, but failed almost immediately.  Door listened and made comforting noises while she rubbed Molly’s hair.  Ingress had followed her sister and was sitting on the floor also listening.  Molly finished with a few hiccups and wiped her eyes.  Ingress walked over and gave her a hug. 

“Well, I guess I will get up, no good lying around and blubbering, right?  What needs doing around here?  I should probably keep busy” stammered Molly.

She began the day helping Richard dust his new bedroom.  He was staying in a little used guest room.  The furniture had long ago been covered with sheets.  A thick layer of dust covered everything in the room.  Door and Ingress had also come along to help.  Molly enjoyed talking with Richard.  He was calm and easy-going.  It was hard to imagine that this man had killed the Great Beast of London.  Later on, they all moved over to the study.  Door wanted to show some stuff to Richard, and Molly had nothing better to do.  They looked over maps and scrolls and odd artifacts of London Below.  Door told them stories of her family’s history.  Eventually they all grew hungry and trooped to the dining room.  It was one place that Molly wasn’t worried about running into Sherlock.  She doubted he would bother to join them for the evening meal.  The Marquis was there, building a massive house of cards.  When he saw the crowd arrive, he snapped his fingers, which made all the cards fly up in the air, and then neatly stack themselves in a pile in his outstretched hand. 

De Carabas looked them all over carefully.   Door looked tired, but was still lit up by the excitement of the return of Richard.  De Carabas wondered how long it would take for those two to get their act together.  The shy look of happiness on Richard’s face told him everything he needed to know about the Warrior’s feelings.  Ingress looked slightly confused and annoyed.  Likely she was trying to determine her own feelings toward Richard.  She knew that Richard was important to her sister, but didn’t want to have to share.  But Molly, well, Molly’s face was an open book.  Now the Marquis knew exactly why he had seen Sherlock angry and alone.  The Marquis was a little disappointed, if those two crazy kids couldn’t work it out, well then who the hell could? 

While it was tempting to query the others about the latest goings-on, the Marquis wanted to share his own news.  It was always better to be the center of attention anyway.  “Well, fascinating as your adventures fighting dust must have been, I have something interesting to share.  I was at the Floating Market just last night and saw something very interesting.”

Molly interrupted him, “Oh God, you saw it, didn’t you, please don’t, please” she babbled.

“Oh hush.  Not everything is about you, you know.  I have no idea what it is you are referring to, so stop your fussing and listen to my story.  Where was I?  Oh yes, the Market.  Well, I happened to see a gentleman there who was in disguise.  And not just any sort of disguise, he was in fact producing a glamour.”  Now that he had finished his tale, the Marquis leaned back and smiled.

Door and Molly were frowning.  Richard just looked confused. “A what? A Glamour?  Isn’t that a women’s magazine?” he asked.

Molly burst out laughing.  De Carabas took it upon himself to educate the newest arrival.  “It’s a wonder you managed to survive down here at all.  A glamour, Richard, is a sort of magic.  A person who can make a glamour can make others see, feel or hear whatever it is he wants.  It’s a handy way to disguise one’s self, become invisible, make others see things that aren’t really there.”

“Did you see what the man really looked like?  It wasn’t Jim was it?”  Molly was trembling a bit now. 

“I couldn’t actually see what the man looked like, I just could tell that he was making a glamour,” answered the Marquis. 

Dinner was mostly finished in silence.  Everyone was too caught up now in their own worries.  Richard was having a serious argument with himself.  One dinner with the Marquis was enough to make him doubt himself all over again.  He was wondering why the hell he thought he was better suited for this life.  Maybe he wasn’t suited to live anywhere.  Molly left early and went to sit in the courtyard.  Even though life in London Below had grown on her, she still missed the sky sometimes.  She heard a noise behind her.  For a split second she feared and hoped it was Sherlock.  It wasn’t.  Ingress stood there looking at her.  Molly smiled and waved the little girl over.  They sat together on the stone bench next to the fountain.  It was nice to sit together in silence. 

Later on, Molly found herself talking about her feelings for Sherlock to Ingress.  The little girl just sat and listened.  It was somehow comforting for Molly to say the things she was thinking out loud.   Molly saw her small companion’s head start to droop.  It was getting late; she picked Ingress up and carried her in to Door. The two sisters left for Door’s bedroom and Molly returned to her makeshift bed in the little girl’s room.  She stared at the shelves filled with toys till she finally slept.

The next morning, there was still no sign of Sherlock.  Door knew that he had returned to the guest suite sometime early yesterday morning.  She had asked Molly if she wanted her to go and speak to him, but Molly had begged her not to.  Molly had no idea what she should say to him.  She was in no rush to have to see him again.  More likely than not, she would burst into tears at the sight of him.  Better to put that off as long as possible.  The Marquis was wildly curious about what exactly had transpired between the two, but was being surprisingly discreet.  He strongly suspected asking what had happened would make Molly a blubbering mess and he hated the thought of snot stains on his coat. 

Molly was drinking her second cup of coffee when the message arrived.  A letter fluttered through the air.  This was a common way for messages to arrive in Door’s house.  Messages could be sent without the sender knowing the location of the House without Doors.  The letter was addressed to Mary the healer.  Molly grabbed the letter and read it.  It was a hastily scribbled plea for help. Bloodstains dotted the letter.  Someone needed medical attention badly and was begging for the healer Mary to come. 

Molly stood up as she finished the letter.  She had received similar letters since she began her career as a healer.  Of course she would go and offer help; she had always gone in the past.  Before she could go far, the Marquis snatched the letter away from her and quickly read it.

“Hold it” he said.  “You’re not actually going to go are you?  What if it’s some sort of trap?” he asked.

“I doubt it.  Who would want me?” she asked ruefully. 

He sighed, why must women be so exasperating?  “Oh please, enough pity.  I’m serious.”

“Well I am too.  And I can’t ignore a plea for help, what if someone is dying?  I have to go and check” she retorted.

“Then I’m coming along as well.”

“You don’t have to, just stay here” she sighed.

“Yes well, if you intend to go then I will accompany you, like it or not.  Your Sherlock would kill me if I let you leave alone.”

“Don’t talk about him, ever again, please.”  She felt tears prickling again.  “Alright, I just need to get my bag, and then we can go.”

The Marquis nodded and followed her while she gathered her things.  She had left her healer’s bag close to the doorway in the entry hall.  She checked to make sure she had enough supplies.  She pulled a jacket on to ward off the chill and damp.  Once everything was ready, she and the Marquis left in search of the person who needed help.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

After taking a long bath, Sherlock had every intention of sleeping.  Unfortunately, his racing mind refused to cooperate.  After a few hours of fruitless tossing and turning, he gave up.  He stomped around the guest suite, looking for some sort of distraction.  Everywhere he looked, something reminded him of Molly, which only served to make him more irritable.  His eyes rested for a moment on his coat.  His face lit up at the memory of what he had recently put in his coat pockets.  After fleeing the feral cave children, the route back to Door’s home had taken them past the crack in the wall where the savages had first abducted Molly.  The ground there was still littered with their tiny darts.  Sherlock couldn’t help himself, he carefully picked up a few and stowed them in a pocket.  Well, now was an excellent time to begin a chemical analysis of whatever it was they used to knock out their victims. 

Sherlock had previously borrowed a microscope and rudimentary chemical set from Portico’s study.  Door had no plans of using it; she gave Sherlock permission to take it as long as he refrained from blowing up the house.  Sherlock carefully removed the darts from his coat pocket and began setting up various beakers and slides.

The microscope was a beautiful thing, made from exotic woods and gleaming brass.  The lens appeared to be made from polished rock crystal.  As aesthetically pleasing as it was, it was old and had none of the features Sherlock was used to taking for granted.  It was difficult working without all the technology he had had access to at St. Bart’s.  Thinking of the lab produced a sharp pain in his chest.  He resumed focus on the experiment.  He had scrapped each dart carefully, removing most of the sedative residue.  He had various samples diluting and was busy preparing slides. 

Sherlock worked for hours, completely absorbed in his study.  At one critical moment, he called out, “Molly! Fetch me the other slide!”  The pain in his chest returned, sharper than before.  He lifted his eyes from the microscope and looked around.  Oh.  Right.  Molly wasn’t here. No one was.  He rubbed his chest as he remembered that Molly wasn’t likely to come back either.  He tried to be resolute.  He had worked for years alone, had preferred it even.  In university, Sherlock was widely known as the worst lab partner anyone could ever be assigned.  His peers had often resorted to begging professors not to be paired with him.  He had always been better off alone in the past, he was better off now.

The hours stretched on, Sherlock was getting very frustrated.  Without the proper tools, it was proving difficult to analyze the samples.  He was getting tired too, but was too determined to give up.  Another test was finished, but gave him no clear answers.  Sherlock pounded his fists on the desk.  He had never been a very clean person and often ignored basic safety practices when in the throes of experimentation.  Now years of bad habits caught up with him.  Slamming his fists against the desk had caused one of the tiny darts to fly up in the air, lazily spinning around.  The dart came down, needle sharp point first, and pricked the back of his hand.  Sherlock stared at it for a moment, unbelieving.  Almost instantly, he felt the sedative begin to work.  Clearly he hadn’t removed it all.  Deeply angered at himself, he stood up, plucking the dart from his hand.  He threw it away and managed to take four wobbling steps before collapsing in a heap.

Sherlock had already been knocked out for several hours when Molly and de Carabas left.  They briefly argued about which direction to go.  The message had been somewhat garbled and the location of the victim was unclear.  Finally Molly agreed that it was better to let the Marquis lead, he had a better sense of where everything was anyway.  They had taken a shortcut through some sewers, and then turned into a tunnel that had been partially excavated for a transit line that was eventually abandoned due to wartime shortages.  That tunnel lead to a tunnel that was in currently in use by Tube trains.  Molly and the Marquis had to race down a short section of track in between the passing trains.  Before the next train came, they ducked into a door that opened into an old access tunnel.  At the end of this tunnel was a set of stairs, they began to climb down.  The stairs ended in an empty cavern. Suddenly, Molly could hear shouting, she ran ahead, searching for whoever had summoned her.  As Molly raced ahead, the Marquis became disoriented.  There was a rock wall in front of him, Molly had taken the light and it was growing dark.  De Carabas turned around, but he had completely lost his bearings.  Shit.  He knew this was a bad idea.  He called out, “Molly, stop, it’s a trap!”  He was answered by the sounds of a struggle.  He closed his eyes and reached out, trying to find where the wall really was and find his way to Molly.

Molly raced around the corner and was promptly grabbed from behind.  A rag was shoved over her face; she recognized the scent of chloroform immediately.  She was furious, how could she be so stupid?  Well, she wasn’t going to give up without some fight.  She threw her head back as she struggled.  Her reward was the satisfying crack of her assailant’s nose being broken.  The last coherent thought she had was that at least Sherlock’s self-defense lessons had been good for something after all. 

Sebastian was impressed; he hadn’t anticipated much of a fight from her.  The sharp pain of his nose being broken made him lose his concentration on the glamour that was confusing the Marquis.  The Marquis was relieved as the walls disappeared.  He knew that what he was seeing was a glamour, but it had still tricked him.  He ran ahead and nearly tripped over Molly.  Standing a bit back from her, holding his bleeding nose was a tall blond man.  The Marquis paused, evaluating the situation. The man was already holding one knife, de Carabas backed away slightly.  “Broke your nose, didn’t she?  Good girl” he said as he looked over the scene.

Sebastian grinned, blood dripping into his mouth.  “Where’s Sherlock?” he asked.

“Who?” answered the Marquis, the picture of innocence.

Sebastian just grinned even larger, then spat some blood out.  “You know who I want, don’t play dumb. Where the fuck is he?”

The Marquis shrugged.  “It was worth a shot.  I don’t know where he is, I prefer not knowing where that irritating idiot is anyway.”

There was a flicker in the air.  The Marquis looked down at his chest. Shit.  The bastard had thrown the knife and lodged it in his lower left side.  And the damn thing had gone straight through his coat too.  The Marquis narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.  Another flicker in the air.  Another knife was now sticking out of his right side.  Blood was pouring from both wounds.  De Carabas looked a bit closer at the knives.  Well this was amusing.  They were the same ones he had traded to Baxter months ago.  Evidentially they had been bartered all around the Underside, ending up back in the Marquis’ possession, in a sense. He had to laugh about it; he was running out of other options.  De Carabas glared at the assailant. “What do you want?” he spat.

“Boss wants the pathologist and the detective alive, didn’t say anything about anyone else I should run into, nothing personal you know.  Tell Sherlock to meet us on the roof in six hours, otherwise some really unpleasant things are going to happen to Miss Hooper.  And they’ll keep happening, for as long as her body lasts.”

De Carabas was trying to staunch the blood flow and not having much success.  “What roof?” he asked.

Sebastian smiled and picked up Molly, throwing her over his shoulder.  “Sherlock knows.  Better hurry up if you want to deliver that message.”  He winked at the other man, and then disappeared.

The Marquis quickly felt around in some pockets.  He had a couple of frilly handkerchiefs in one, and the scrap of lace he had last used to bind his throat.  He stuffed the fabric into gashes on his sides.  He began to race back to Door’s home as fast as he could.  It was awkward at best running with both hands trying to keep pressure on wounds.  He had to give the other man credit.  The knives had been thrown with impossible accuracy.  Neither would kill him too soon, the blood was already flowing less.  But his guts had almost certainly been cut and were leaking a toxic brew that would fell him in a matter of days if not sooner.  The Marquis briefly wished that he had convinced Molly to make another egg to hold his life.  Although, if they succeeded at getting Molly back, she would probably be able to heal him.  Even more reason for him to hurry.  He took to the sewers, it was foul, but a far shorter route.  Once again, back in the sewers, leaking blood all for a girl.  He was getting to be quite the hero.  The Marquis de Carabas swore to himself that if he survived this episode, he would do something really dreadful; his reputation was at stake after all.

Sebastian Moran carried the unconscious Molly Hooper back up to the surface of London.  No one noticed the tall man with the bloodied nose with the woman slung across his shoulders.  He didn’t even have to waste any energy making a glamour.  That was one advantage of going back to the Underside. Once he was out of London Below, he stopped to check where he was.  He had hoped to emerge near Jim’s house and was pleased to see that he had.  He was tired of carrying the dumb bitch around.  A short walk was all it took to get back to the home he had shared with Jim.  Sebastian was a little worried that Jim would be angry he only had Molly.  He figured he wouldn’t get another easy chance like that, better to get just the girl, Sherlock would follow.

Sebastian kicked the door open.  He looked around the ground floor, no one home.  But, then he heard a noise upstairs, it came from Jim’s bedroom.  He stomped upstairs and kicked the bedroom door open.  Jim was lying on the bed, his legs hanging off.  Between Jim’s legs, a blond young man was enthusiastically sucking Jim’s cock.  Jim lazily turned his head when the door flew open.  He had been typing something on his phone, but tossed it aside now.  Sebastian dropped Molly on the floor, her head bouncing when she hit.  Jim closed his eyes and shuddered slightly.  The curly haired lad between his legs made some happy noises, as though he had always dreamed of this moment.  Sebastian had to admit the whore was doing a fine job of faking enthusiasm.  He seemed to be enjoying himself much more than Jim.  Now the young man looked up, shyly smiling at Jim and carefully wiping him off with a towel.  Clearly, the young man hadn’t seen the blood spattered man enter the room and drop an unconscious woman on the floor. 

Jim glanced over at the master bathroom.  “Go clean yourself up” he said to the whore. Sebastian and Jim both admired the young man’s ass as he walked away.   God, he was lovely, practically still a boy.  Jim stretched up and reached under a pillow.  He pulled out a pistol, flicked off the safety and paused for moment to aim.  Then he nonchalantly shot the whore through the back of the head.  Blood sprayed across the bathroom mirror.  Sebastian walked around the bed.  He ignored the smell of gunpowder and gurgling noises from the floor.  He stepped over the body and grabbed a towel.   He ran it under the water and then scrubbed the blood from his face.  When he returned, Jim was finishing redressing in an exquisite gray suit.

Sebastian sighed, “You always did like the blonds.”

Jim grinned wickedly at him and pulled him close for a kiss.  “Why do you think I haven’t killed you yet?  Where’s Sherlock, I did say bring me both of them, didn’t I?” he sang.

Christ, not the sing-song voice, Jim was always most dangerous when he used that voice.  Sebastian took a deep breath.  “He’s on his way.  I sent a message for him.  He’s due to meet us on the roof of St. Bart’s in oh, about five hours now.” Sebastian studied Jim’s face, waiting for his reaction. Jim sighed and ran a finger down the side of Sebastian’s face.

“Moran, you’re such a fuck-up, it’s really pissing me off you know.  I’ll deal with you later.  You know it is winter, not exactly a nice time to hang out on a fucking roof.  Get up there, make it nice and cozy for me, and keep her alive too.”  With that, Jim leaned back and stretched his arms over his head.  He pointedly looked at Sebastian and then at Molly.  Sebastian got up and reached down to pick up Molly Hooper once again.  Jim cleared his throat.  “Oh, and honey, if this doesn’t end the way I want it to, I’m going to make you hurt like you never have before. I’m going to do things to you that you never even dreamed of” he snarled.

Sebastian nodded and left the room.  Molly’s head smacked off the door jamb on the way out.  He carried her out to the garage and dropped her on the cement.  Bruises were blooming all over her body.  Sebastian dug out some tarps and random other camping supplies left over from some past deranged scheme.  He was about to throw it all in the car when he remembered.  Shit.  He grabbed the keys and tried to turn the car on, no such luck.  He was part of London Below now, cars wouldn’t work, and cabs wouldn’t see him.  He could try to drag everything on the Tube, but that was nearly more trouble than it was worth.  Sebastian grumbled to himself and shoved all the things in a pack.  Jim wanted cozy, then he’d fucking give him cozy.  He shouldered the pack and picked up the increasingly battered body of Molly Hooper.  She stirred a little; maybe he could make her walk part of the way. 

Meanwhile, deep underground, the Marquis de Carabas was still running.  He was becoming very unhappy about the state of his clothing.  There was no way he’d get all this blood out of these trousers, what a waste.  He was getting a bit giddy from blood loss, but pushed on, he was nearly there.  He nearly groaned out loud in relief as the entrance to Door’s home came into view.  He dragged himself the last few steps and nearly collapsed through the door.  Hell, no one was in the entry hall.  He didn’t think he could yell for long.  He took a raspy breath and shouted “Door!  Richard! Anyone!  They have Molly!”  He felt faint from the effort and dropped to his knees.  The floor was starting to look very comfortable when he finally heard Richard and Door run in.

“Holy hell!” exclaimed Richard.

“What happened? Who has Molly?”  Door shouted.

The Marquis was about to answer when Ingress came into the entry hall.  She took one look at the scene in front of her and began screaming.  Her shrill voice filled the entire room.  Door looked back to her sister and then at the Marquis, unsure where to go first.  She chose the option that was bleeding all over her floor.  She ran to the Marquis side, dragging Richard along with her.  “Keep pressure on his wounds, I’ll be right back” she ordered.

Door ran and grabbed towels and bandages.  When she returned to the Marquis’s side, she noticed that Ingress had disappeared.  Well, she had to be somewhere in the house still, Door reasoned.  She would look for her sister later, when de Carabas was no longer in danger of bleeding to death.  She began to peel away some of the makeshift bandages.  The gashes in his side were vicious, and alarming similar to some of the ones he had received from Croup and Vandemar.  Working together, Door and Richard were able to bandage his wounds and stop the bleeding.  The Marquis was feeling stronger, and began to explain what had happened.

Ingress hadn’t hesitated, she ran straight to find Sherlock.  She dashed through the guest suite, racing right past the slumbering form of Sherlock in her haste.  She turned in a circle and ran next to Sherlock.  Ingress stared at him.  She poked his shoulder a few times.  No response.  She stuck her finger in her mouth, worrying.  Finally, she came up with a better idea.  She bent very close to his ear, breathed deep and shouted “SHERLOCK!” 

Sherlock remained mildly sedated, but had still registered something running past him and poking him.  He hoped whatever the hell was disturbing him would go away.   But then it shrieked, practically breaking his ear drum.  He flinched and rolled over on his back.  He was still very disoriented, and had troubled comprehending where the noise came from.  His eyes slowly focused on Ingress, who had resumed chewing on her finger.  “Ingress?” he mumbled.

The little girl nodded vigorously.  Her eyes darted around the room, she was terrified.  Sherlock reached out a shaky hand toward her.  She grabbed it then said in a rush, “Something bad happened to Molly.”  Sherlock sat all the way up, his mind rapidly clearing.

“What happened, Ingress?  Where is Molly?” he asked. He struggled to his feet, swaying a little.

She shrugged.  “The Marquis came back, he’s all bloody” she answered.  She began to cry.  Sherlock reached down and picked her and staggered to the entry hall.

_A council of war is meeting.  Four men sit around a wooden table, arguing.  One man is trying to calm the others down, two are turning red from yelling and the last man stands to walk away.  The other three stop and shout after him.  He ignores them and continues to stride to the exit.  The other three men are silent for a moment as he leaves.  They resume shouting once he is gone._

Sherlock’s head was still swimming from the effects of the cave children’s drug.  He was impressed that such a small dose was as effective as it was.  He would really have to continue studying it sometime.  The little girl in his arms began screaming as soon as they arrived in the entry hall.  Bloodied rags were strewn about the room.  The Marquis was there in the center of all the chaos, along with Door and Richard.  Sherlock strode towards the group.  He turned Ingress’s head away from the blood and made what he hoped were comforting noises while rubbing her back. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.  Her wails subsided to whimpers as he crossed the room.  Before Sherlock could even ask what had happened the Marquis was already answering him.

“She received a message for help.  I told her it could be a trap, she went anyway.  Tall blond fellow was making some kind of glamour, he drew her in while I was confused.  Drugged her, held something over her face.  She fought back though, broke his nose.  That broke his concentration and I was able to catch up.  He wants you.  Says the boss wants you and Molly alive, meet them on the roof.  You’ve got a little less than five hours before they start hurting Molly.”  The Marquis fell back, gasping after delivering the message.

Sherlock closed his eyes; Ingress had burrowed her face in his neck and was still whimpering. He continued to rub her back.  Door came up to Sherlock and went to take her sister.  For a second, Sherlock tightened his grip, till he realized who wanted the little girl.  He handed her over.  Door looked at him carefully.  “What’s your plan, Sherlock?  We’ll help” she said.

Sherlock shook his head.  “I can’t risk more lives. I’m going alone.”

De Carabas sighed in irritation, rolling his eyes for extra emphasis.  “Spare us the bullshit; I’m already dying, in case you haven’t noticed.  I’m going, Molly’s my only hope and I prefer not to die today.  And these two are both as bad as the other for self-sacrificing, so cut to the chase please.”

Sherlock looked at the three of them.  Well, four if you counted Ingress, but for rescue purposes, he most certainly did not.  De Carabas was a good fighter, but was, as he himself had pointed out, mostly incapacitated.  Door’s fighting abilities were not great, but she had other gifts.  And Richard’s abilities was largely unknown, Sherlock hadn’t bothered to pay much attention to him.  Supposedly this mild looking Scotsman was the Warrior of London Below, but Sherlock wasn’t convinced. He angrily ran his hands through his hair and tried to quiet his mind. All he could think about was the hurt look on Molly’s face when he had rejected her.  He hoped he would get the chance to apologize.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

It was colder than usual for winter in London.  Sebastian was thinking about how messed-up everything was.  Snow was actually fucking falling.  Everything was just perfect now thought Sebastian.  He’d been forced back into his own personal hell, dragged himself through all kinds of shit, had his nose broken, watched the man he loved nonchalantly get a blowjob from a whore and was now carting tons of worthless crap around in the fucking snow.  He laughed bitterly as he trudged along.  He should have left Jim years ago, but was too damn stupid and lovesick to do so.  What was he going to get for his troubles?  Nothing but more fucking pain, even if Sherlock cooperated, Jim would still be angry that his exact orders hadn’t been obeyed.  Nothing ever pleased him. 

As he turned a corner, Sebastian could see the hospital looming before him.  He set Molly down on a bench and rummaged around in his pockets.  He still had a few cigarettes left, a small blessing.  He shook one out and started to smoke.  He watched as Molly twitched a little more, she was starting to come back around.  He knelt down next to the rucksack and dug around for a bit.  He found a plastic zip tie in a side pocket.  He bound Molly’s hands together, and then pulled out some ankle restraints.  She could walk in them, but only barely.  He finished his cigarette and lit another one while he waited for her to wake up.  Bitch could walk herself up all those damn stairs.

Back in the House without Doors, Sherlock surveyed his team.  He had insisted that Door and Ingress remain behind.  Door would help them create a shortcut to the hospital, but was then under strict orders to return home.  The Marquis de Carabas was weak from blood loss and would have to be carried most of the way.  Richard was nervously cleaning his knife, which looked like an oversized prop from a ridiculous adventure movie.  Sherlock felt sure that Richard hadn’t a clue about how to use the knife.  And to top it all off, Sherlock was still a bit woozy from the cave children’s sedative.  Never in the history of mankind was there a less likely group to succeed.  Sherlock honestly hoped that Moriarty would allow him to surrender himself and let Molly go.  Sherlock knew this was also highly unlikely.

Door was touching the exit to her home, concentrating on finding a way to open a door near the hospital.  It was possible for openers to open doors to places that were not physically next to each other.  It took a lot of energy and focus though.  If the opener wasn’t paying attention, they could open the wrong door.   Sherlock was making a last minute consideration of his weaponry.  He had several knives and a sword.  It felt silly to be carrying such things, but he had no access to a gun, and no guarantee a gun would work, they often didn’t for those in the Underside.  Door looked over at Sherlock and nodded.  Richard walked toward her and waited.  Sherlock boosted the Marquis de Carabas onto his back.  Both men were extremely unhappy about the situation, it was so undignified.  However, they had little choice.  Now that everyone was assembled, Door threw open the passageway and the group walked through.  She watched them go, and let the door close when she couldn’t see them anymore.  Now that they were gone, she let herself cry a little.  She turned around and saw Ingress standing there.  She tried to smile and be brave for her little sister.  She walked to Ingress and took her hand, leading her toward the dining room. 

On the rooftop of St. Bart’s Hospital, Sebastian Moran had constructed what he felt was a very fucking cozy campsite, thank you very much.  He had forced Molly to stumble up the endless stairs to the top of the building.  She was still dizzy and disoriented, but Sebastian had always found that a gun was an excellent motivation to pay attention.  He wasn’t sure if the damn thing would work actually.  That was the sort of bullshit he hated about the Underside.  It was positively medieval the way technology failed you when you were part of the Underside.  At least it had stopped snowing.  Jim would probably bitch about that too, like Sebastian could control that. 

Sebastian had built a shelter from the tarp and lit a small fire inn an old can.  He’d chained Molly’s ankle to an exhaust outlet.  She was shaking from the cold and terror.  Her whole body ached.  Her arms were pinned behind her and she was losing feeling in her hands.  Molly was also extremely angry at herself.  She should have listened to the Marquis; she could practically hear Sherlock tell her how “obviously” it was a trap.  She could suddenly feel her death sense awaken; she was no longer able to keep it suppressed.  She felt bile start to rise in her throat.   Jim was coming.

There was just one hour left till the deadline Sebastian had set when Jim Moriarty strolled onto the rooftop.  He paused to check the scene.  He was somewhat surprised that Sebastian had listened to his directions.  Jim walked over to Molly first.  He knelt down next to her and leered at her.  “Hello darling.  You know, I was so surprised when I figured out that you snuck down to London Below.  And a fellow Deathseer too!  I really thought you were just a boring stupid girl, but I was wrong!  I don’t like to be wrong” he grinned at her and caressed her face.  He could feel her heart rate jump, it was marvelous.  He loved to feel their fear, one of the few things that still brought him enjoyment.  He studied her face for a moment.  “You know Molly, you could come along with me and Bass, us Deathseers should stick together.  I’m sure the three of us could have a bit of fun” he said.

Molly stared at him in horror, was he really suggesting that?  He laughed and tweaked her nose.  Then he stood up and stretched his back.  “Oh I know, you’d never do it, such a goody-goody.  No wonder our little office romance didn’t work out” he sneered. 

Molly watched as Jim walked over to Sebastian.  The two men stood whispering for a moment.  Then Jim laid his head against Sebastian’s chest and yawned.  Sebastian wrapped an arm around him and kissed the top of Jim’s head.  They stood together like that for a while.  Molly was fascinated and repulsed by this odd bit of tenderness between the two killers.  She shivered and dropped her head down.  She tried to test the restraints again.  She had been surreptitiously been searching for a weak point ever since Sebastian had chained her up.  She wasn’t having any success, though now the plastic was cutting into her skin.  She could feel blood running down her hands.  If she were as clever as Sherlock, she’d probably have found a way out by now.  Her heart hurt at the thought of Sherlock.  She knew that he was her only chance of rescue, but she also wished he would stay away and keep himself safe.  She knew he would never do that.  He might not care for her, but he wouldn’t abandon her.  She started crying again, scared of what might happen.

The passageway Door had opened took them to back door of an abandoned restaurant.  After three visits, the health department investigators decided that if they hadn’t gotten rid of the mice by now, they never would.  The back door opened for the first time in nearly a year.  Richard stumbled over a greasy trashcan as he walked through the door.  He swore softly as he knocked over some bottles that had been abandoned in the alley.  Sherlock was once again very dubious that this man was any sort of a warrior.  He could barely manage to walk properly. 

There was a light dusting of snow on the ground.  Sherlock readjusted the man who was currently clinging to his back.  The Marquis’ breathing was growing more labored.  He tightened his grip around Sherlock’s neck and prayed they didn’t run into anyone he knew.  If he had to die, for a second time, he wanted to die with some dignity.  They walked in silence toward the hospital.  Sherlock’s mind raced, he wasn’t sure what he was going to face on the rooftop.  Jim would be there, along with his blond assistant who could produce the mysterious glamours.  Sherlock still had difficulty accepting such magical nonsense, even after all the bizarre things he had seen.  He had no idea how to defeat someone who could completely overrule his senses.  The experience of seeing Mycroft on the rooftop still deeply affected him, even though he knew it was an illusion. 

Sherlock refused to carry the Marquis up those many flights of stairs to the roof.  So he waited for someone to enter an elevator.  Richard kept looking around nervously, like he expected someone to suddenly notice them standing there.  It was hard to break the lifelong habit of being worried what other people thought.   A janitor finally came by, pushing a mop and bucket and whistling aimlessly.  The men followed him into the elevator.  They had to share the unpleasant experience of watching the janitor scratch an itch in a very private place while the elevator ascended. 

At the top of the hospital, they quickly found the roof access door.  Sherlock was surprised that the lock to the door had remained unchanged.  He had expected that after his very public suicide, some changes would be made.  Once this was all finished, he intended to write a stern letter to the trustees of the hospital.  That is, if he was still alive.  He was prepared to sacrifice himself if that was what it took to save Molly.  He owed her that at least.  Sherlock paused before he opened the rooftop door.  He looked back at Richard and debated telling him to leave, but Richard shook his head before he could get the words out.  Sherlock nodded, and then opened the door.

Jim could hear footsteps coming up the stairs toward the roof.  He grimaced; more than one person was walking up the steps.  He pulled away from Sebastian and put his hands in his coat pockets. He lightly ran his fingers across the gun stowed in his pocket. The footsteps were louder.  Either Sherlock had brought help along with him or some bumbling idiots had made a very poor choice of times to visit the roof.  He looked over at Molly who lay shivering on the roof.  He smirked at her, which made her shudder.  He chuckled a little, and then turned back to see who came through the door.

Sherlock threw open the door and strode through like he owned the building. He gently set the Marquis de Carabas down near the doorway.   Immediately he took in every detail of the scene before him.  Someone had put up a makeshift shelter, complete with crackling fire.  Molly lay in a heap on the rooftop, her hands bound behind her back, one ankle chained to an exhaust pipe.  He was relieved to see that other than bruising, it appeared that she had no major injuries.  Jim was grinning manically, hands in his coat pockets.  A tall blond man stood behind him.  Sherlock studied him closely, as he was largely unknown.  This man was supposed to be able to create these glamours, make others see things that didn’t exist.  It was obvious that the man and Jim had an intimate relationship, and that the blond man was more heavily invested in the relationship than Jim.  Sherlock was pleased to see that the man’s nose was freshly broken, he was proud of Molly for that.  Sherlock’s observations came to a halt as Jim began to speak.

“Lovely to see you again Sherlock.  Congratulations on not being dead.   You know, you and Molly almost had me fooled for a while” said Jim cheerily.  He rocked back and forth on his heels as he smiled.

“I’m here now.  Let Molly go” said Sherlock.  He felt his hands clench as he looked at her.  His chest ached with a sharp pain and he closed his eyes briefly.

Jim studied Sherlock for a moment, and then looked back at Molly.  He began to giggle.  “Ooooh Molly!  You naughty girl! Good job!  It’s about time someone popped his cherry!  I’ll have to think of a new nickname for you, Sherlock.”  He leered at Molly, licking his lips.  His eyes lit up and he clapped his hands in delight.  He knelt down next to her and in an exaggerated whisper said, “Tell me, Molly, just between us girls, was it gentle and romantic or does he like it rough?  Did you spank him a little?  Did he lick your sweet cunt and make you come?”

“Stop that! Don’t speak to her” shouted Sherlock.  He was furious now.

Molly blushed and hid her face.  She was going to start crying any second now.  She was so scared and so tired.  Jim smirked at her and then turned his attention back to Sherlock.

“What’s the story with your friends Sherlock?  Didn’t you know that you were supposed to come alone?” complained Jim.

“I was not informed of that” answered Sherlock.  He wanted to pound Jim’s smiling face into a pulp.

The Marquis decided to be helpful.  He pulled himself up a little and called out, “Actually, the blond gentleman over there neglected to give any instructions other than when and where to meet.  He definitely didn’t include the provision to come alone.”

Jim glared at the new arrivals.  He spun back to Sebastian.  “You didn’t tell him to come alone?  Damn it Sebastian, you’re such a failure.  You’re always supposed to tell them to come alone, that’s practically a given.  How many decades have we been doing this?  I’m really very disappointed in you.”

Jim sighed and shook his head.  He wondered what was wrong with his Tiger; he could barely do a simple job right anymore.  Jim studied the two men that Sherlock had brought along with him.  The one slumped down by the door was already largely out of commission, having lost a lot of blood already.  And the other one?  He looked like he just left a shitty office job somewhere and took the wrong way home.  Jim could see the fear in the man’s eyes and the tremors in his hands.  Maybe Sherlock was really insane, why the hell else would he bring such losers?

“Right.  Well, this was just supposed to be a private chat between old friends.  I just want to speak with Sherlock and Molly.  So, it was lovely to meet you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to be going now.  Bye-bye!” sang Jim in a childish tone.  He frowned and looked at Sebastian.  “Kill them both.  And hurry up, I’m getting cold.”

Sebastian nodded.  Jim turned away and walked toward Molly.  Richard stepped closer to the Marquis.  Sherlock kept glancing between Molly, Jim, Sebastian and Richard.  Sebastian was calmly walking toward Richard and the Marquis.  Just as Sherlock was about to decide where to go first, Richard bent low and pulled his knife from its sheath.  With a feral growl, he leapt forward, throwing the knife.  Hunter’s knife was not meant to be thrown; it wasn’t designed to be aerodynamic.  Yet such was the Warrior’s skill that the knife flew true, striking Sebastian Moran directly in the heart.  Moran looked down, shocked.  He too had falsely assumed that Richard was harmless.  Jim had been ignoring the scene, till he heard the dull thud of the knife entering Sebastian’s chest.  Sebastian looked back to his lover and managed to gasp, “Jim” before collapsing.

Jim’s eyes went wide as he rushed to Sebastian’s side.  Blood gushed forth from his chest, an endless torrent from the killer’s heart.  Sebastian tried to breathe.  He managed a few panicked gurgles before blood began to bubble from his lips.  Jim wailed in agony, calling “Bass!  No!”  He frantically ran his hands over Sebastian’s chest, desperate for some way to stop the bleeding.  He was screaming his lover’s name, tears beginning to fall.  Molly watched it all, horrified.  Jim’s grief was palpable; she had never seen him look so human.  She was sure any second now he would attack the other men on the roof.  A desperate idea struck her then.

“Jim!  Bring him over here!  I can heal him!” she cried, yanking the chain that bound her to the pipe.  Jim looked up at her, hands and face covered with blood.  He stared at her, realizing that as a Deathseer she had the ability to heal.  He leapt to his feet and dragged Sebastian’s body next to Molly. 

“Free my hands, I need to be able to touch him” begged Molly.  Jim drew his pocket knife and sliced the zip tie.  He knelt down next to Sebastian’s head, whimpering and keening in his agony.

“Save him Molly, please” he pleaded, his voice shaking.  For a split second, Molly’s heart hurt for him. Right then, he was Jim from IT again, a sweet man who once held her hand while watching TV.  She pushed that image away, this was Moriarty, not Jim her old boyfriend.  That man had never existed.  She put her hands on either side of Sebastian’s chest and closed her eyes.  She knew before Jim dragged the body over to her that there was nothing she could do, the man was dead. No amount of her magic could repair the gaping hole in his heart.   She took a ragged breath and tried to steel herself.  She desperately hoped her stupid idea would work.  As Jim cried over his fallen love, Molly grabbed the knife with both hands and pulled it from Sebastian’s chest. The blade made a dreadful sucking sound as it exited the man’s chest.  The handle was slippery with blood.  She gathered all her strength and lunged at Jim.  She had hoped to stab his heart, but missed, plunging the knife into his right shoulder, just below the collarbone.

Jim realized what she was doing a second too late; he was unable to move far enough away.  He screamed as the knife entered.  Filled with rage he leapt to his feet and yanked the knife out of his chest.  Molly tried to scramble backwards, but was still chained to the exhaust pipe.  Jim flew at her, swinging wildly with the knife.  Molly curled up into a ball as the knife sliced her shoulder.  She shrieked in pain.  Jim grabbed her hair and jerked her head back.  He held the knife up, light catching the edge of the blade and he prepared to slit her throat.  But before he could finish his killing blow, he was tackled from behind.

Sherlock had watched everything happen in a state of shock.  It could only have been a minute since Jim ordered Sebastian to kill.  He was stunned to watch Molly claim she could help the fallen man.  He didn’t know what she was planning till she lunged at Jim.  As Jim attacked Molly, Sherlock raced forward, desperate to save her.   He couldn’t believe that Molly had done something so foolish, and yet he was proud of her.  As Jim raised the knife, Sherlock grabbed him from behind, wrestling him away from Molly.  They rolled across the rooftop, fighting for control of the knife.  Richard ran to Molly’s side.  Sherlock pounded Jim’s hand against the ground, causing him to lose the knife.  Jim batted it away with his other hand and grinned crazily at Sherlock.  He stood, pulling Sherlock along with him.  Sherlock realized they were near the edge of the roof.  Jim was trying to drag both of them to the edge. 

“Come on, let’s end this” hissed Jim as they struggled.  Jim tried to wrap his arms tightly around Sherlock.  Sherlock thrashed and fought back as he was pulled toward the edge.  Jim was laughing the whole time, a hideous, crazy sound.  Sherlock tried to push Jim away, but Jim bit down on his hand.  Jim stood on the edge of the roof now.  He grabbed both of Sherlock’s wrists.  Sherlock could hear Molly screaming somewhere far away.  He could see over the edge, the street below dark.  Jim was leaning back, throwing all his weight off the building.  Sherlock felt himself be pulled to the edge.  Jim shrieked with insane glee as they started to fall. 

Sherlock had already accepted that he was likely to die.  His last thought was one of relief that Molly was safe.  His feet caught on the edge of the roof, but the weight of Jim dragged his upper body off.  He was hanging upside down, his face smashing against the side of the building.  Jim still had a death grip on his wrists.  Sherlock became aware that someone was holding his legs and calling his name.  He looked down at Jim’s crazed smile and felt his right shoulder become dislocated.  He howled in pain.  Jim’s hands were slipping.  Sherlock could feel Jim furiously trying to pull him down.  The pain was so great, Sherlock nearly gave up and let Jim win.  But then he heard Molly calling him, begging him to survive.  Sherlock took a deep breath and allowed his other shoulder to become dislocated.  The pain was nearly unbearable, but the jolt it gave Jim was enough to end it.  Jim’s grip finally failed and he fell screaming to the street below.  As Sherlock heard the impact of his enemy striking the ground, he passed out from the pain.

When he came to, he was laying on the rooftop, surrounded by Richard and the Marquis.  Both men were panting; they had been the ones to grab his legs.  He looked for Molly, but then realized that his head was lying in her lap.  She was sobbing uncontrollably.  In the haze of pain, he thought that he had upset her again.  He tried to reach up and touch her and didn’t understand why his arm wouldn’t work.  He closed his eyes and whispered “I’m sorry Molly, please forgive me.” 

He really didn’t understand why this made her cry harder. Women were so difficult to comprehend.  Maybe he’d devote sometime to studying them when this was over.  He felt himself drifting away again and briefly struggled to stay awake.  He felt Molly’s hands caressing his face gently.  He could feel her bend over and press a kiss on his forehead.  She whispered “I love you” as her tears fell on his face.  He smiled a little and then passed out again.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

Molly whimpered as she watched Sherlock black out again.  Her hands felt frozen and she was starting to feel each distinct bruise.  Her mind still felt foggy from a combination of chloroform and shock.  The medical, rational part of her mind was cataloging her injuries and suggesting how to properly care for them.  Her vision was fuzzy around the edges.  Her whole body was shaking.  She wrapped her arms around her chest to steady herself.  She felt someone touch her arm softly.  She snapped her head back, scared till she realized it was just Richard.  His eyes were so warm and compassionate.  He rubbed her arm and asked, “Hey are you okay?”

Molly’s lower lip quivered.  “Nooooo!” she wailed.  She started to sob uncontrollably again.  Richard hugged her for a second and made soothing noises.  Molly started babbling, crying about all the awful things she had seen. Richard was listening sympathetically and patting her back.  The Marquis de Carabas tried to summon enough strength to roll his eyes.  He simply did not have time for this nonsense.  He cleared his throat.

“Molly, I appreciate that you’ve had a phenomenally shitty week, however, I only came along on this jaunt because the blond fellow over there threw some knives into my stomach right after he knocked you out.  Since my bowels are currently leaking into my gut and killing me slowly, I’d really prefer it if you stopped your blubbering and help me.”  He lifted up his shirt, exposing the bloodstained bandages wrapped around his middle.

Molly gulped once and then stopped crying.  She wiped her nose on her sleeve.  It was time for her to take charge of the situation.  She looked at Richard; he was okay, no injuries.  She looked at Sherlock, who was still unconscious and still had two dislocated shoulders.  She could put them back in, or at least she was pretty sure that she could with help from Richard.  She’d need to try and make some splints too. She borrowed Richard’s knife and sliced off the de Carabas’s bandages.  She evaluated his wounds; they were bad, definitely capable of killing him without some serious intervention.  She sat back and looked at the two men. 

“Alright.  We need to get out of here soon, police will be here any time now and I’d rather us not be sitting around.  Um, Richard, after I heal him, well, I’m probably going to pass out as well.  Do you think you two will be able to get us out of here?  At least somewhere inside the building if not farther?” she asked.

Richard looked over at de Carabas.  The Marquis nodded.  “If you can heal me Molly, we’ll be able to get us all out of here” he said.

Richard spoke up then.  “Molly, what about the gash on your back?  Shouldn’t we do something about that?”

She twisted her head as much as she could, but wasn’t able to get a good look at her stab wound.  She frowned and lightly touched it, getting a sense of the dimensions of the cut.  It definitely would need stitches, but that would have to wait.  She looked over the rooftop.

“Richard.  Can you go and look and see if there are any blankets or sheets over there, in all that camping junk that they brought along?  We need some stuff to make slings and bandages.  See if they brought any water too” she ordered.  Richard nodded and went off to scout the campsite that Sebastian had created.  He took a wide berth around the earthly remains of Sebastian Moran. His blood was still spreading in a wide pool.  From the streets, he could hear a commotion building.  The evening’s pedestrians had discovered the body of Jim Moriarty.  Sirens were beginning to wail in the distance.  Richard dug through the discarded pack and found a thin woolen blanket, a bottle of water and two small airplane sized bottles of vodka.  He hurried back to Molly with his loot.

Molly took his knife and cut the blanket into strips.  She rinsed off her wound with the water then some vodka.  Then she instructed Richard on bandaging her shoulder.  Now she looked back at the unconscious form of Sherlock.  She really hoped that she could reset his shoulders; it was the sort of thing that should be done at a hospital, but that wasn’t exactly an option.  Some dark part of her mind pointed out that they were at a hospital, just not inside it.  She choked down some nervous giggles and told Richard how to hold Sherlock.  Her plan was for Richard to grab Sherlock’s torso and she would do the yanking of Sherlock’s arms.  Hopefully, everything would return to where it belonged and he’d be no worse for the wear in the end.  She refused to ponder the implications of her screwing this up.  Richard looked at her worriedly; she nodded and heaved backwards with all her strength.  Sherlock’s eyes briefly fluttered and he grunted, but otherwise did not awake as Molly tugged on his arms, manipulating the bones till they were back in the proper places.  Finally, she put his arms in makeshift slings.  She and Richard were both sweating from the effort and she could feel her wound start to bleed again.  She ignored it for now; she had other things to take care of.

More sirens had joined the first responders to the body below.  The lights from emergency vehicles flickered and bounced off the buildings, turning the street into a strange sort of disco.  Molly shivered in the cold and rubbed her hands to warm them.  Then she knelt down next to the Marquis.  Puffs of steam rose from the Marquis’ mouth.  She placed her hands on his chest.  She breathed in slowly and allowed her death sense to open up again.  For a second, she almost felt the knives piercing his side.  She pushed that aside and focused on the damage.  His death was already gathered around the gashes in his midsection.  The black mist was stubborn, too many times had this man cheated death.  Molly concentrated her efforts and forced the blackness back.  Warmth flowed from her hands into his body.  She felt his wounds grow closed. She smiled once she knew she had succeeded.  She opened her eyes long enough to see the astonished look on Richard’s face and then passed out, softly collapsing over the Marquis’ scarred torso.

De Carabas sighed and shoved Molly’s limp body off his own.  He sat up and casually looked over her work.  He was a little disappointed that the cuts weren’t completely healed, there were still scabs.  The scars from the throwing knives would not be as small and neat as the ones she had healed previously. Still, considering that the wounds were going to kill him, he couldn’t find too much fault with her work.  Richard was staring at him open-mouthed.  The Marquis reached over, closed Richard’s mouth and then readjusted his clothing.  He stood up in a fluid motion.  Richard scrambled around on his hands and knees, before finally standing up in a most undignified fashion.  Richard sheathed his knife and brushed gravel off of his hands.  De Carabas looked down at the pair of dreamers.  Well, Sherlock had carried him all the way to the hospital; he might as well return the favor.  De Carabas knelt down and gestured to Richard to pick Sherlock up.  Working together, they somehow managed to balance Sherlock across the Marquis’s shoulders.  Richard picked up Molly and the two men carefully walked to the stairs.

Richard prayed that he didn’t trip down the stairs.  Some Warrior he would be then.  Molly was snoring quietly in his arms as they walked down the hallway.  They stopped and waited for the elevator.  The top floor of the hospital was deserted.  A faulty florescent light flickered off and on.  De Carabas was tapping his foot and trying to readjust his grip on Sherlock.  The lights of the elevator lit up and the door opened.  A group of policemen rushed out of the arriving elevator. They ran shouting toward the roof access. Richard and the Marquis watched them race past.  The Marquis shrugged and entered the elevator.  Now they had to wait till someone on a lower floor summoned the elevator.  A particularly insipid instrumental version of a current pop song was playing in the elevator. Richard was mildly surprised that the Marquis was singing along.  They stared at the row of numbers, still no floors lit up.  Richard suddenly felt the urge to make pointless conversation.

“So, um, will we be doing this sort of thing every week in London Below?  Or just on alternating Thursdays?” he joked.

“Please Richard, this whole day has been painful enough, you don’t need to make it worse with terrible jokes” drawled the Marquis.  “And no, selfless rescue missions are only scheduled on an as-needed basis.”

A light for the fourth floor suddenly flashed on and the elevator began to move.  Richard and the Marquis briefly argued about whether or not to find a hiding place or to continue towards Door’s home.  The Marquis was hoping that they could hole up somewhere till Molly or Sherlock woke up.  He was already tired of carrying Sherlock.  He wondered what sort of favor he could cajole in exchange for this extra service.  He was certain he hadn’t agreed to carry anyone.   Richard argued in favor of leaving the hospital.  He still was worried that he someone might see them, a ridiculous concern.  After squabbling the whole time the elevator was descending, they decided to leave the hospital and head back to the abandoned restaurant.  Snow was falling once again and Richard started to worry about all of them developing hypothermia.  None of them were dressed for snow.  They trudged back to the alleyway.  Both men were pleasantly surprised to see Door sitting on the back step of the restaurant.  She was wrapped with so many blankets; both men missed the fact that she was holding Ingress at first.  The sisters ran toward their friends once they saw them.

“Hey!  We couldn’t wait, Ingress was really worried, I mean she actually told me we should come and wait for you to come back.  You have no idea how happy I am to see all four of you!”  Words spilled out of Door in a rush.  She ran to Richard and kissed his cheek.  This made him blush slightly and the Marquis groan.

“Yes, Door, lovely to see you as well, can we save the gushing for when we’re back somewhere safe and warm?  And more importantly, someplace I can dump this oaf” complained De Carabas.

Door smiled and smacked his arm lightly.  She dragged him closer to the doorway and waved Richard closer.  He readjusted his grip on Molly and stood next to Door.  Once everyone was assembled, she linked arms with the men and checked to make sure that Ingress was holding on.  She concentrated on her home and opened the passageway to take them all back.

Everyone nearly collapsed as they passed through the door into the entry hall.  Exhaustion had a lot to do with it, but also that the doorway was not meant for two men, each carrying an unconscious person, an opener and her six year old sister.  Ingress also helped to complicate matters because she had a death grip on Door’s legs and would not let go.  Somehow they all made it inside without any broken bones.  Richard set Molly down on the closest available chair.  De Carabas thought about dropping Sherlock but decided that was too dastardly, even for him.  He laid Sherlock down on a nearby sofa.  Door was chewing her lip, pondering what to do next.

“Should we take them back to their rooms?  Someone should probably stay with them both. What do you think?” she asked Richard.

“Um, well who should stay awake?  I can try to” said Richard.

“I have a better idea, as usual.  Shove some sofas together in here.  They can sleep on those and the rest of us can camp out on the remaining sofas and chairs.  We’re all knackered, no one is going to be able to stay awake.  We’ll just stay together and have a happy little sleep over” decided the Marquis.   He started dragging a sofa across the room.  Door left to go grab some blankets.  Richard helped shove the sofas together.  Then he and the Marquis positioned Molly and Sherlock in their makeshift bed.  Ingress disappeared for a while and returned with some fruit, which Richard ate hungrily.  Door set about making everyone comfortable with blankets.  Then she felt weirdly awake, wired from all the excitement, and offered to make tea.  After everyone had a cup of tea and some scones, she wrapped herself up in a blanket.  Ingress snuggled up next to her.  Richard fell asleep first and started to snore.  One by one, everyone finally slept.

Sherlock’s mind was locked in a battle with his exhausted body.  There was a thought that wouldn’t stop nagging him.  His body was determined to get some proper rest, but for a brief moment, he struggled to wake up.  He was slightly alarmed by the fact that his arms still didn’t want to obey him.  Even in the blackness he was able to deduce that he was lying on a sofa in the House without Doors.  He turned his head and was pleased to see Molly lying near him.   He tried to pull himself closer to her, but briefly blacked out again from the pain.  Once more he forced himself to wake up.  This time he tried wiggling his body to get closer to her.  He needed to ask her a question.  He was able to maneuver his body a bit closer to hers.

“Molly!” he whispered.  She didn’t stir.  He frowned and tried a little louder.  ‘Molly!  Wake up!”

She grimaced and drew a hand up to push hair out of her face.  She opened her eyes slowly and flinched in surprise when she saw Sherlock’s face so close to her own.  She yawned and asked, “What is it?”

“Molly, what you said to me on the roof, before I passed out, did you mean it?” he asked urgently.

She tried to remember what the hell she had said to him.  At that moment, she was having difficulty remembering anything; she wasn’t even sure where she was.  She opened her eyes a little more and studied his face.  He looked so serious, his eyes glowing with a strange fire.  It scared her a little, how serious he looked.  Then she remembered.  She had done the stupidest thing of all.  She told him that she loved him.  Molly cringed in fear.  She thought back to how he had shouted at her in the Market.  She hid her face in her palms as tears began to threaten.

“I don’t know, um, I’m sorry it was just, I was so scared and I thought” she trailed off.

“Molly” he interrupted.  His voice was low, but there was a note of fear there now.  He gulped a deep breath of air.  “I need to know, did you mean what you said?”

She lifted her head and looked at his eyes.  His lip was trembling and his eyes were solemn. Beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead. She felt her own lip quivering as she found the courage to answer.  “I did.  I meant it.  I love you” she whispered.  Tears finally fell as she blinked her eyes.

Sherlock smiled at her, the beatific smile of an angel just landed from heaven.  “Good.  That’s really good Molly” he managed to whisper before his body finally took over control and he passed out once again.  Molly was completely confused.  She had no idea what had just happened.  Actually, she was a little afraid it might be a dream.  Although she couldn’t remember ever feeling this much pain when dreaming.  Well, if this was real, she hoped Sherlock would remember what happened in the morning.  She certainly wasn’t about to bring it up.  Molly reached out her aching arms and smoothed the hair down on his head.  She leaned over and kissed his forehead before falling back asleep herself.

The Marquis was still awake, leaning against the back of the sofa that Moly was sleeping on.  He had been practicing a new magic trick that he had recently learned when he heard Sherlock stir.  He was annoyed at first, thinking that he would be called upon once more to do something kind and helpful.  He was relieved that no calls for help were made and he could eavesdrop in silence.  He smirked as he listened to Molly’s confession.  De Carabas felt that truly, it was he and he alone who had brought the two of them together.  Molly probably owed him a favor honestly.  Although saving his life was probably enough of a repayment for his help, well almost, he supposed.    He wrapped his blanket around himself and leaned his head back, trying to sleep.

Sherlock only slept for about five hours.  His mind hadn’t stopped fretting over the question of why his arms were not working.  When he finally was fully awake, he studied the poorly made slings on his arms.  He winced at the pain that shot through him when he tried to pull his arms free.  He looked over at Molly.  She had something to do with this.  “Molly.  Molly” he hissed.  She grimaced and blinked her eyes.

“Sherlock?” she asked.

“Obviously.  Why am I trussed up with these wretched rags?” he demanded.

She yawned and stretched an arm, which was a mistake as it reopened the wound on her shoulder.  She turned to try and see it.  Sherlock forgot his own complaint as soon as he saw her blood.  He tried to pull himself closer to her, huffing as he contorted his body.  Molly laid a hand on his back.

“You dislocated both your shoulders last night.  I had to put them back in on the rooftop.  Remember?” she asked.

“Yes, now I do,” he said impatiently. “Not important, you’re bleeding Molly” he said with concern.

She smiled at him and in her best Sherlock voice sighed, “Obviously.”  He just sniffed at her attempt at humor and resumed his struggle to sit up.

Molly helped prop him up against the back of the sofa. He kept trying to pull his arms free, till Molly rested her hands on his.  “Stop wiggling.  You need to rest your arms” she ordered.

Sherlock pouted again.  “You need stitches, Molly, my arms are fine.” 

“Your arms are not fine and you are not going to be doing any stitching.” She glared at him, which just made him chuckle.  His face turned serious as he thought about their last encounter, the disaster at the Market.

His voice dropped to a whisper.  “Molly, I’m sorry about the argument at the Market.  Once again, I behaved atrociously.”

“We can talk more about it later.  Right now I just want to go and get cleaned up before I figure out who wants to sew me back together” said Molly.

Like some sort of Rococo Jack-in-the-Box, the Marquis sprang up from behind the sofa.  Molly shrieked in surprise and Sherlock groaned at the reappearance of his least favorite Underside acquaintance.  De Carabas grinned at them all, showing off his fine white teeth.

“You know, much as I was enjoying listening to you two, I agree with Molly.  Neither of you is especially fragrant.  I’ll be happy to see to sewing your shoulder when you aren’t so foul,” he said.  He then began to move the sofas apart and helped Molly to stand up.  She wobbled a little once she was on her feet again.  Sherlock refused any assistance and managed to stand on his own.  Molly clutched his elbow and they hobbled back toward the guest suite.

_Sherlock is sitting at the desk in the guest suite.  Before him is an assortment of cell phones that he has painstakingly taken apart.  He studies the pieces and frowns in dismay.  He hasn’t noticed that Molly is sitting in the armchairs watching him.  Her eyes are soft and she bites her lip nervously.  She finishes preparing him a cup of tea and carries it to him.  She sets it next to him, but he doesn’t notice.  Disappointment is clearly etched on her face as she returns to her chair._

Molly blinked as she stepped into the sitting room.  She looked at Sherlock who also looked uncomfortable.  “Um, I’ve never seen us before any time I came back to the rooms.  I guess it makes sense, we’ve been living here for a while, it was still sort of weird though” she stammered.

Sherlock studied her again and sighed. “Molly, will you please stop babbling and kiss me?” he asked.  Molly tried to look at him sternly, but couldn’t pull it off.  She reached up and kissed his lips lightly.

“I’m going to let you get away with that one.  I need to bathe.” She turned to walk away but was closely followed by Sherlock.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Sherlock actually blushed slightly.  He tried his best to look arrogant, but it was impossible when his arms were bound with shredded blankets.  He cleared his throat.  “Actually, I was very much hoping that you would assist me with some of my own hygiene, given that I have been forbidden from using my own arms.”  For a second she didn’t answer and he felt panic rising in his chest.  Molly always helped; maybe he had finally driven her away.

But the she smiled her usual sweet smile and reached up to touch his face.  He closed his eyes and kissed her palm.  “Of course Sherlock.  Anything you need, come on I’ll start the bath” she whispered.

He smiled back at her, genuinely grateful.  “Thank you” he whispered.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

Once they had both bathed to their satisfaction, they redressed in clean clothes.  Molly had to keep reminding Sherlock not to use his arms, which was making him annoyed.  The prospect of resting his arms for weeks was extremely irritating.  Molly was able to successfully placate him with a light kiss.  He was clearly growing eager for more, but she sternly reminded him that she still needed stitches and they both needed to rest. 

“Besides, we still need to discuss what happened at the Floating Market, Sherlock” she said a little sadly. 

He looked away from her, ashamed of how he had treated her.  He was once again struck by the terrifying thought that perhaps she hated him.  However, even though he was no expert on women, he felt reasonably sure that the fact that she had given him a few brief kisses was proof she didn’t hate him.  He felt some dim memory trying to surface, but was unable to recall it.  It bothered him that he couldn’t remember something.  Molly walked past him and opened the door to the sitting room.  She squeaked in surprise and Sherlock rushed to see what had startled her.  The Marquis de Carabas was currently sitting in Molly’s armchair.  Sherlock was about to shout at the man when he saw Ingress peer from around the other side of the chair. 

De Carabas held up some of Molly’s first aid supplies.  “Come along, let’s see to that shoulder of yours, haven’t got all day you know.”

Molly was skeptical.  “Why are you so eager to put me back together?  I’m not sure I trust you with a needle and thread.”

“You wound me, Molly.  I watched you stitch the many gashes on my own chest, it can’t be that hard.  Besides, I’ll have Sherlock here to oversee everything and threaten me should I put one toe out of line,” the Marquis reasoned.

Molly sighed, she didn’t have much choice.  She returned to her room and removed her shirt, wrapping a sheet around her upper body.  She returned to the sitting room where the Marquis was setting up his work station.  Sherlock sat on his armchair, Ingress perched on his lap.  Molly watched in amazement as the little girl leaned over to whisper something in Sherlock’s ear.

“Ingress!  You’re speaking!  That’s great,” exclaimed Molly.  The little girl smiled shyly and buried her face in Sherlock’s neck.

“She was the one who came and told me you were in trouble” explained Sherlock.

“Yes, and do tell Molly where Ingress found you and what lead you to that sorry state” smirked the Marquis.

Sherlock glared at him.  Since he was unable to fold his arms across his chest, he settled for leaning his head back and looking bored.  “I was partially incapacitated due to a minor mishap during an experiment.”

De Carabas snorted.  “I believe it is more accurate to say you were knocked out on the floor due to accidentally stabbing yourself with one of the cave children’s darts.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  “How did you know about that?” he hissed.

“I have my ways” smiled the Marquis as he unpacked his materials.

“Boys!  Can you two please stop this bickering and get back to fixing me?  Please?” begged Molly.

The Marquis bowed to her and began cleaning off her shoulder, carefully cleaning the knife wound.  He sterilized the needle and threaded it.  He slowly and precisely stitched the wound closed.  Sherlock was lurking close by, scrutinizing his work.  The detective was a little unhappy that he found nothing to criticize.  The Marquis finished the stitches and cleaned off her shoulder once again.  Now that everything was finished, he gathered up Ingress and left Molly and Sherlock to their much needed discussion.

Sherlock sat back warily in his chair.  Molly’s eyes were closed as she felt her bandaged shoulder.  Her whole body hurt and she was exhausted.  All she wanted to do was sleep, but she needed to do this first.

“How are you feeling?  Do you need anything for pain?  I might have something in the other room” she asked.

He shook his head.  “Are you alright?  I know firsthand that receiving stitches without any anesthetic is very painful.  Do you need anything?”

“No I’m okay.” She paused and tried to collect her thoughts.  “Okay, um, Sherlock, I would like to say some things first please, and when I’m finished, you can say whatever you need to.  Is that alright?”   He nodded; it was strange how careful and formal they were both being.   He hoped that they would be able to return to the comfortable relationship they had once shared.

Molly took a deep breath.  “I know that you are a very private person Sherlock, and I respect that.  I don’t mind that you dislike public displays of affection, they make me nervous and shy a lot of the time anyway.  But you really hurt me when you yelled at me because I was touching you.”  She stopped speaking, tears were threatening and she halfheartedly tried to wipe them away.  

“I just wanted to help, and you could have told me that you needed to be alone or something.  Um, it’s alright if you don’t want to keep up this relationship or whatever the hell we have been doing.  You told me that it wasn’t really your area, and maybe we gave it a good try, but I guess it’s foolish to keep trying to force something to happen.”  Tears were streaming down her face now.  She stared at her hands that were tightly clenched together in her lap.  She spoke in a whisper now. 

“I will always be your friend and I will always help you when you need it.  But I can’t keep up the, um, kissing and so on, it’s too hard.  Because I meant what I told you on the rooftop.  And I always will, but it hurts too much knowing you don’t feel the same way.  I’m not mad, I forgive you, please don’t think I’m angry, I guess we should try and just be friends.”

Her voice was wavering as she finished her speech.  A steady stream of tears ran down her face and she reached out to pick up an unused bandage to wipe her face.  Sherlock sat back in his chair, stunned.  Then the memory of Molly leaning over him on the roof came flooding back.  He remembered with perfect clarity looking up into her face as snowflakes fell and stuck in her hair.  As he lay there, shocked at having survived, she leaned over and whispered “I love you.”  As the memory washed over him, he shuddered.  Other memories came unbidden.  He remembered the cruel look of satisfaction on his father’s face as he told his youngest son that he would end up the same, a psychopath, never to be loved.  He remembered the taunts of his peers, the whispers of his teachers, and the jeers that he was a freak.  He remembered how he had fought against his mother’s unconditional love, certain that he did not deserve it.   He remembered how he had wrongly deduced Molly at the awful Christmas party, how her carefully chosen and wrapped gift had been for him.  He remembered how willingly Molly helped him, always.  He remembered the first time they kissed.  He remembered the secret smile on her face as he entered her.  He gasped as the memories overwhelmed him.

Molly was looking at him, waiting for his reply.  He was trembling, tears gathering in his own eyes.  “No” he whispered hoarsely.  “No, I don’t want to be your friend Molly.  Because I love you.  And I know I have been cruel and hurtful, and I know that I don’t deserve, that I have never deserved all that you have given me.  But I need you Molly.   I don’t want to stop kissing you, because I love you.  I know I can never be a perfect partner or even a decent boyfriend, but please don’t give up on me.  Please stay with me” he pleaded.  His voice wavered slightly as he finished speaking.  He studied her face, it was alarmingly blank.  His whole body shivered as he waited for her to speak.

Molly was having difficulty comprehending the words that Sherlock has just spoken.  Had he really said that he loved her?  She turned the words over in her mind.  She looked at his face.  There were tears in his eyes, his body trembling.  He was so open; he had laid himself bare before her.  She knew what a gift it was that he had given her.  He had shown her his true self, the vulnerability he had hidden from the world.   She stood up shakily and walked to his side.  He looked up at her, his eyes pleading.  She reached out and stroked his hair and bent to kiss him softly on his lips.  “I love you too Sherlock” she murmured.    His eyes lit up and he tried to reach out his hands for her.  She laughed and held his hands.  He pulled himself closer to her and kissed her passionately.  He always wanted to be able to do this.  He hummed happily as she kissed him back with equal passion. 

It took some doing, but Molly was able to convince Sherlock to rest after they finished their discussion.  She was weary to her very bones and felt on the verge of collapse.  She knew Sherlock needed to rest as well, they had both suffered greatly in the past few days.  In addition to his arms, Sherlock had serious bruises all along his legs and numerous scrapes on his face.  It was a minor miracle he hadn’t broken his nose when Jim tried to pull him off the rooftop.  Molly knew they both needed sleep, but Sherlock was wide awake, delighted that she loved him. 

Molly was stunned that Sherlock had said he loved her.  Never in wildest dreams had she imagined him proclaiming his love for her.  She was more than a little overwhelmed at this development.  She knew that they still had much to discuss, boundaries to figure out and more if they were going to continue their relationship.  But it was hard to worry much when Sherlock was eagerly kissing her.  She finally succeeded in getting him to lie down in bed and curled up close to him.  She stroked his hair while he chattered excitedly about random thoughts and ideas.  The last thing she remembered him talking about before she fell asleep was a plan to improve his chemical analysis of the cave children’s darts. 

It was near dinner time when Molly woke up.  She was famished.  How long had it been since she had really eaten?  She wasn’t sure.  She sat up and looked for Sherlock.  He was standing in the doorway, smiling at her.  She tried not to laugh, the splints for his arms made him look like a raggedy puppet.  Somehow, he still managed to look incredibly gorgeous.  She crawled out of bed and stumbled across the floor.  Door was waiting in the sitting room.  She jumped up and ran to hug Molly.

“Hey!  I thought I better check and make sure you both were still alive.  Are you hungry?  Because the kitchens have been sending up a lot of food” said Door.

“Oh God I’m starving,” moaned Molly.  She eagerly walked with Door and Sherlock to the door. 

_Portico, his wife and all his children are seated at the dining room table.  Door is seated next to her mother, who is holding a squirming baby, Ingress.  Door tries to make faces and distract her baby sister, who is refusing to eat.  Their mother manages to shove a spoonful of green baby food in Ingress’s mouth.  She makes a face and promptly spits the food out, spraying her sister Door’s face.  Arch howls with laughter at his two sisters._

Molly glanced back at Door, she was smiling wistfully.  She no longer became overcome with sadness when she saw memories of her family when traveling between rooms.  The table was indeed laden with an array of serving dishes. Richard was sitting there, along with Ingress and the Marquis.  Molly rushed to sit down, her mouth was already watering.  Door started serving, passing plates back and forth.  Sherlock was actually eating without having to be threatened by Ingress.  As long as Molly cut his food up for him, he could manage to spear bites.  The Marquis was dying to say something snide about Molly cutting up Sherlock’s food, but mindful that she had recently saved his life, again, decided not to. 

He did have one surprise for them though.  He had scampered back to London Above to procure a newspaper earlier in the day.  He’d been certain that their escapade on the roof would be in all the papers and was correct.  As everyone ate, he waited for an acceptable dramatic moment to unveil it.  However, likely due to widespread exhaustion, there was an unfortunate lack of drama.  Well, making his own drama was just one of the many things that the Marquis did well.

“Ahem.”  He modestly adjusted his lacy cravat while everyone turned their attention to him.  “Our little affair last night was so interesting, I felt it must have attracted the attention of the press, and lo and behold, I was correct, as always.”  He paused and unfurled the newspaper from one of the numerous pockets hidden in his black coat.  Molly groaned and put her head in her hands, she remembered the last time the Marquis had surprised them with a newspaper.  De Carabas slid the newspaper across the table towards Sherlock.  There was that same, freakishly grinning picture of Jim Moriarty on the front page.  This time the text was a little different.  Now the headlines screamed the lurid details of the death of the criminal mastermind.  How had he hidden in plain sight for so long?  Was Sherlock Holmes wrongly maligned? Sherlock was reading the newspaper intently.  He was smiling slightly, but Molly was still worried.  She was afraid that the newspaper would upset him.  Even though they had defeated Jim Moriarty, they were still no closer to figuring out how to get back home.  And Molly wasn’t completely sure she wanted to go back.

Sherlock was surprisingly grateful to the Marquis.  He poured over the whole newspaper, drinking in every detail.  He picked up the newspaper when he was finished and then stood.  “Thank you for fetching the newspaper.  I would greatly appreciate it if you could bring me the newspaper for the rest of the week” he asked.

“What shall I receive in return?” asked the Marquis.

“De Carabas!” hissed Door.

“Oh fine, I wasn’t really expecting anything, we’ll just have to consider it a favor.  One that possibly shall be repaid at some unknown point in time” said the Marquis.  He stood and made a florid bow before departing the dining room. 

Later that evening, Molly was becoming anxious; she kept waiting for Sherlock to ask about returning to London proper.  She had been certain that that would be the first thing he asked about once he defeated Moriarty.  Yet he seemed content to relax in bed with her, rereading the newspaper while she read a book.  When he didn’t mention it the next day, she grew more worried.  Other than casually reading the newspapers the Marquis brought him, he said nothing about Moriarty.  Days passed and she worried more. 

Sherlock was behaving strangely.  He was sleeping soundly through the night.  He actually was obeying her order to rest his arms.  And he was eating heartily at meals.  Molly was starting to fear that he had suffered a stronger blow to the head than previous realized during their adventure on the roof. Molly was getting more paranoid by the minute. It would make sense.  Of course Sherlock had said he loved her, he had sustained a personality altering head injury!  She could practically feel herself getting crazier.  Molly forcibly reminded herself to not be insane, but her strength was wavering.

It was three days after the death of Jim Moriarty that Molly finally lost it.  Sherlock had found a handsome leather bound copy of Treasure Island on the bookshelves.  Excitedly, he told her it had been a favorite of his in childhood.  He even revealed that some of his fondest memories were of Mycroft reading the book to him.  Molly couldn’t remember Sherlock ever volunteering such personal memories.  And she was certain he had never said anything remotely nice about his brother.  That night, Sherlock wanted to read out loud to her.  He snuggled up next to her and began to read.  After twenty pages, she started to squirm.  Sherlock didn’t seem to notice and kept reading with his beautiful voice.  His long fingers turned each page with a soft caress.  Molly kept wiggling and Sherlock kept reading, oblivious to her distress.  Finally she leapt out of bed with a shriek.

“Sherlock!” she screeched.

He calmly marked his place and closed the book.  He looked at Molly with concern.  “Yes?  What has gotten you so agitated Molly?” he asked.

“You!” she screamed.  “You, you’re not you!  You keep sleeping and eating and not doing awful experiments and other normal things! It’s weird!  And you haven’t said a word about going back.  I thought…” she trailed off.  She was suddenly very tired. She felt herself deflate.

Sherlock wrinkled his brow and made a face.  “You’re unhappy because I’m doing what you asked me to?” he asked.  “Molly, I realize that I have very little practical experience in relationships, so please forgive me if I am confused.  Is this the sort of thing women do where you say that you want me to do one thing, but mean something else entirely?  I sincerely hope this is not the case and would like to formally request that you not do so in the future.  I have enough trouble trying to behave myself properly as it is” he said.  He slowly stood, wincing as he hit a sensitive spot on his arm.  He walked closer to Molly.

“Oh God, I am being crazy, it’s just… I’m scared” whispered Molly.

He wrapped his arms around her slowly, holding her as close as his aching arms would allow.  “Why are you scared?  Moriarty and his associate are dead.  We have established the fact that we wish to be together in a romantic relationship and have taken measures to do so in a fashion that is mutually beneficial.  We have both sustained some injuries, but nothing that will have a lasting impact.  I don’t understand what there is to be afraid of, Molly” he said.

She bit her lip and tried to relax into his embrace.  She sighed and looked up at him.  “I’m scared because I know you want to go back to your old life.  I keep waiting for you at ask me when we can go back, and I don’t know if we can.  I don’t want you to hate me because we can’t go back to our old lives.”

“Molly, while I was initially unhappy at this unorthodox move, I know that you brought us here with the best of intentions.  You kept both of us safe and were correct in your instincts about Moriarty.  While I would prefer to return to London Above, if we had to stay here …” he paused, breathing deeply.   He rested his chin on her shoulder and lightly kissed her neck. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing, if we had to stay in London Below.  I have you and my violin, the rest would work its self out.”  He stroked Molly’s arm, he could still feel how tense she was.  Something was still wrong.  “You’re still worried, what is it Molly?” he asked.

She looked up into his beautiful eyes.  They were full of love and concern.  She couldn’t bear the thought of him no longer looking at her like that.  When she thought back to how he used to look at her in the morgue, like she was irritating child, her heart broke.  “Sherlock, if we do go back to London Above, will we still be together?  I don’t want to go back to how things used to be.  I couldn’t stand it.”  She shuddered as she envisioned that sort of a future. 

“Molly, I assure you, should we be able to return, our relationship has permanently changed.  I have permanently changed.  You have helped me to be better, Molly.  You make me want to be better.”  He hugged her closer, till his arms ached so much that he had to drop them.  He thought more about her concerns.  He missed his work, John and Mrs. Hudson, his Baker Street flat and even, maybe just a little, Mycroft.  He longed to return to these aspects of his life.  Yet he knew he couldn’t go back to being alone, wanting to be alone.  In truth, he had never wanted to be alone.  He realized now that while caring for someone was a risk, the reward was worth it.  He felt slightly nauseous at the thought of a life without Molly in it.  He cleared his throat.  “Tomorrow, we shall find out how Richard was able to return to his former life and if it is possible to return the same way he did.  We’re not going anywhere tonight, so I suggest we return to bed” he said.

Molly gave him a shaky smile and nodded.  She returned to bed and snuggled under the covers.  Sherlock soon joined her.  She watched him to see if he would start reading again.  He turned to study her, and then asked, “Would you like me to keep reading?  I thought that was what was distressing you.”

She giggled a little.  “No, I could listen to you read the phone book.”  His eyebrows shot up in surprise at this. “Oh please, you know you have a sexy voice, it was your favorite tool in wearing down my resistance to your requests for body parts.”  Sherlock tried to protest but Molly wouldn’t let him.  “That and your puppy dog eyes.”

“I do not have puppy dog eyes!” snorted Sherlock.

“You do when you’re trying to get me to do something I don’t want to” retorted Molly.  Sherlock looked at her with the exact sad little puppy dog eyes she was describing.  “See!  That look right there, those are your big sad puppy dog eyes” she said.

Sherlock huffed and burrowed under the covers.  Molly reached out to run her hand through his hair, the only body part currently visible.  “Anyway, I guess I was getting freaked out because you’ve just been so relaxed and … and…”  She tried to select the right word.  “Domestic.  I thought you’d be chomping at the bit to get back to Baker Street and serial killers.  I wasn’t prepared for you to start reading novels and so on.”

From underneath the covers came a muttered complaint.  “I can say with complete certainty that I have never chomped at a bit.”

Molly pulled the covers off his face and kissed the tip of his nose.  “No I suppose not.  Are you going to keep reading to me?  I want to know what happens. Please.”

Sherlock gave one last wounded sigh and then rolled over and picked up the book once more.  Molly snuggled up next to him and laid her head on his chest.  He ran one hand through her hair and resumed reading till Molly fell asleep.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

The next morning Molly awoke alone in bed.  She rubbed her eyes and slowly sat up.  Some of her bruises had started to fade but her whole body still felt achy.  After stumbling to the bathroom, she walked toward the sitting room in search of Sherlock and a hot drink.  She found neither.  Sherlock wasn’t anywhere in their rooms.  She glanced at the kettle and was mildly surprised to see a note propped there.  “Somewhere in the House, talking to Door – SH” Sherlock had actually left her a note letting her know where he was.  She hadn’t even said anything.  Molly smiled and went to run a hot bath.  Soaking for a long time was sounding like an excellent idea.  After a long relaxing time in the bath, Molly felt tired again.  Sherlock still hadn’t returned and the bed was looking extremely inviting.  Since she was still recovering, she decided a nap was in order.  She curled up under some blankets and fell asleep.

Sherlock had woken early, bathed and dressed and then left the guest suite.  He was currently reviewing the collection of newspapers that the Marquis had brought.  He had already carefully read the newest one.  He did actually have a plan about returning home, and had for days.  Belatedly, he had realized perhaps he should have shared his thoughts with Molly.  First of all, he was still in bad shape.  His intention had been to wait a little while and regain more arm strength before trying to go back to London Above.  He was also monitoring the news to see if his innocence had been revealed.  It was pointless to return if he would immediately be placed under suspicion and arrested.  Better to wait and see what the fallout of Jim Moriarty’s death was. 

So far, things seemed to be going the way he wanted them to.  Moriarty’s death had caused a major unraveling of his criminal empire.  It seemed that without Moriarty and Moran’s leadership, the whole organization was crumbling.  People who had once kept silent in fear were now beginning to turn up and share what they knew.  There were already major questions being asked about the fate of Sherlock Holmes.  The press already had decided that he was a tragic figure, a misunderstood genius who had been falsely accused. This was excellent news and made Sherlock optimistic that he could return soon.  He looked up to see Door enter the room with a tray of sandwiches. 

“Hey, are you hungry?” she asked.

“Not especially” he replied.  He walked over to join her at the table.  Door began eating as Sherlock sat down next to her.  There were pieces of fruit on the tray and he idly ate some grapes.  He turned a few over between his fingers as he thought.  “Door, I need to ask you about returning to London Above.  Now that we have defeated Moriarty, I wish to go back.  I need to know everything you know about making the transition.”

Door gulped her last bite of food and grimaced.  She had been afraid of this.  She had known that coming to the Underside had been Molly’s idea, and that Sherlock was less than thrilled with the notion.  She knew that Sherlock had always planned on them returning.  She also knew that Molly had told him it was impossible to go back.  She cleared her throat. 

“Um, other than Richard, I don’t know that anyone has ever done it.  And he was able to return because he survived the ordeal at the Black Friars and had the key to all reality.  So, um I was able to open a door in reality, and he went back to London.  And I think his life was sort of different, better you know, which makes you wonder why he came back” she laughed a little, still not quite able to believe it.  She looked back at Sherlock’s eager face and sobered up quickly.  “I’m sorry Sherlock, but I don’t think it can be done.”

Sherlock sat back stiffly, trying to control the panic he felt growing inside.  Door tried one more suggestion.  “Well, we could go and look in my father’s study, he had more obscure information than nearly anyone else down here, we might find something there.”  Sherlock nodded, he didn’t trust himself to speak.  Door quickly finished eating and they left for Portico’s study.

Molly woke up a few hours later, feeling absolutely delightful.  She was well rested, smelled nice and was in love.  All in all, it was a vast improvement on how she had felt earlier in the week.  She padded out to the sitting room, still no sign of Sherlock.  She made herself some tea and curled up in her armchair with a book.  One good thing about the Underside that she hadn’t expected was all the reading she had time for.  She had finally read quite a few of the classics she was too busy to read when she was in school.  Her devotion to the sciences had left her little time for literature classes.  She still wasn’t sure where the books came from.  She could swear that there were no copies of a certain book on the shelves, but then, when she thought about a title, it seemed to appear on the shelves.  She started to get hungry, it was getting late and she hadn’t eaten in a while.  She put her book down and headed to the dining room.

_The top of the dining table has been cleared off.  The heavy silver candelabrums are currently standing on the floor.  A large piece of paper covers the top of the table.  It is an extremely detailed map of London.  Books and scrolls are haphazardly placed around the edges; an inkstand rests near the center of the map.  Someone has been making careful notations on the map.  That someone has left and a small child is currently standing on a chair, studying the map.  He reaches forward to move a book and manages to upset a pile of materials that crash into the inkstand and knocks it over.  The little boy gasps and yanks off his shirt, trying to mop up the spread of ink._

When Molly reached the dining room, Richard was the only one there.  He stood up and greeted her warmly.  “Hey Molly, how are you feeling?”

“Much better actually, I’ve been sleeping most of the day, I think it’s just what I needed” she answered. 

Door and Sherlock entered then, both looking dusty and disappointed.  Door felt awful, she really wanted to help Sherlock and Molly, but feared it was hopeless.  Sherlock’s entire upper body ached.  He had pushed himself too much, desperately scanning assorted ancient tomes in search of a solution.  He and Door had pulled nearly every book of the shelves.  Molly could tell he was unhappy and in pain, no matter how much he tried to hide it.  Her good mood came to an abrupt halt.  She had a very good idea of what they had been doing.  Before she could decide what to say, Ingress came running in.  She smiled brightly as she announced, “There’s roast chicken in the kitchen!  I can’t carry it! Help!”

Richard grinned and stood to follow the little girl.  “I’ll help her, you guys sit down.” 

Door sat down with a sigh.  Sherlock sat down silently next to Molly.  She reached out and rubbed his hand softly under the table.  He took her hand in his and squeezed it slightly.  He leaned over and whispered in her ear.  “Sleeping has been very beneficial I see.”

Molly turned so she could look at him better.  “You and Door haven’t been having much luck?” she asked.  He shook his head.  Richard returned, carrying a massive tray with a perfectly roasted chicken and some smaller covered dishes.  Ingress carried a smaller tray with more serving dishes.  She grinned proudly as she helped bring the meal to the table.  Everyone began to serve themselves, passing dishes back and forth. 

“Where’s the Marquis?” asked Molly.  The flamboyant rogue was noticeably absent.  No one had been insulted during the entirety of the meal.

Door shrugged.  Sherlock spoke up, “He left this morning, after delivering some newspapers to me.” 

Everyone returned to their meal.  The Marquis did have a habit of disappearing at times.  He felt it was part of his mysterious image.  Molly wanted to find out more about Door and Sherlock’s efforts.  She knew it was a dangerous topic, but was too curious to not ask.  She took a sip of wine and wiped her mouth.  “So, Door, what have you and Sherlock been working on?” she asked.

Door looked pained.  She finished chewing and swallowed before answering.  “We were looking for information in my father’s study about people returning to London Above.  I’m sorry but we haven’t found anything.  Richard is the only person that I’ve ever heard of who was able to go back.  I’m really sorry Molly.”  She reached out to pat Molly’s hand.  Richard suddenly sat up and dropped his fork.  He choked for a moment on a bite of chicken and Door had to pound on his back.  He gulped down some water and took some slow breaths.

“You guys want to go back to London Above?” he asked.

Sherlock had been suppressing a lot of emotions and thus was unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes and muttering “Obviously.”  Molly squeezed his hand, hoping to soothe him.

Richard fiddled with his napkin and smiled.  “Because, I was going through my clothes the other day, I wanted to wash the ones that I was wearing when I came back, they’ve just been sitting in a pile and I thought I should probably do some laundry.  And I was checking my pockets, because I often forget and leave things in there and they get washed.  But I hadn’t actually asked about doing laundry yet, and I’m not even sure if you have washing machines here, come to think of it, so I couldn’t do much, but just empty the pockets of my trousers.”  He paused and realized everyone was staring at him, clearly wondering what the hell the point was.  In a rush he said, “So um, anyway, look what I found in my trousers.”  He fished in his pockets for a second and pulled out a small silver key.

Door gasped “Temple and Arch! Richard!  You’ve had the key all this time?”

“Well, I only realized it a few days ago.  And with everything else going on, I guess I forgot about it” he said sheepishly. 

“You found the key to all reality and forgot to mention it!” shouted Door.

“Um, well, yeah.  I guess since I came back, it sort of followed me, since I didn’t want that reality anymore” answered Richard.

Sherlock’s eyes sparkled as he listened.  “Door, is it possible that we could use the key to return to London Above?” he asked.

“I suppose so; we should probably go and ask the Black Friars about it, they were the ones that had it all those years.  But it worked once, I don’t see why it would work again” she answered with a grin.

Sherlock laughed and leaned over and kissed Molly.  He was already rapidly making plans for after their return.  He had already reconciled with John, hugged Mrs. Hudson and moved Molly into Baker Street when, from across the table, a sudden crash was heard.  Ingress had shoved her chair back from the table and knocked over her glass in the process.  She ran from the room, sobbing.  Door’s face fell.  Sherlock was her little sister’s hero; of course Ingress would be devastated to see him go.  Everyone watched her race out of the room.  Door sighed.

“Well, how about we go and see the Black Friars tomorrow, we can get going in the morning.  I’m gonna go talk to her” explained Door.  Everyone nodded in agreement.  Molly helped Richard clean up the dinner things.  Sherlock drifted into the entry hall, deep in thought.  He was thinking about what he would say to Ingress before he left.  He was a little surprised that she was so upset.  Most people were happy to be rid of him.  As he sat and thought, the Marquis returned, throwing open the door with his usual lack of subtlety.

“I told you I could do it, next time give me a real challenge” sighed the Marquis.  He carried a small case which he presented to Sherlock.

“Thank you” said Sherlock stiffly.  He debated shaking the Marquis’s hand, but didn’t want to seem too chummy.  He nodded instead and left to return to the guest suite.

Later that evening, Molly was packing her belongings.  She wasn’t sure how to feel about her imminent return.  She was still a little afraid that Sherlock would revert to his old ways.  She kept twisting her bracelet around her wrist.  She had been looking over all of their things and deciding what to take and leave behind.  Sherlock was darting back and forth between the rooms, evaluating various possessions.  He found the long nightgown Molly wore.  It had fallen behind the dressing table, discarded in a moment of passionate haste.  Well, he had no intention of leaving this behind.  He folded it and placed it in one of Molly’s bags.

“Oh, Sherlock, this wasn’t actually mine, I found it in the wardrobe” said Molly.

Sherlock tilted his head, feigning innocence.  “It’s not?  Are you sure?”

“Yes, I don’t think I packed any sleeping clothes, I was too worried about bringing sturdy shoes and matches” laughed Molly.  She picked up the nightgown and started walking back to the wardrobe.  Sherlock leapt in front of her and deftly took the nightgown from her hands.

“Sherlock!  It’s not mine! I was going to leave it here!” she protested.

Molly watched as the tips of Sherlock’s ears turned slightly pink.  He tried to causally strut past her and shoved the nightgown back in the bag. 

“Yes, well I think you should take it” he said folding his arms across his chest.  He did his best to look nonchalant.  Molly raised her eyebrows and smirked at him.  His ears were getting redder.

“Why?” asked Molly.

 “Because … I like it” said Sherlock.  He stormed out of the room as Molly started to giggle.  She kept packing, there wasn’t much left.  She was leaving most of the unused supplies they had brought; she figured Door could use them for trade if she didn’t have a use for them.  Sherlock was mostly worried about his violin and a few of his clothes from his former life.  When Molly was satisfied that she had packed everything, she went to find Sherlock.  He was hovering over the desk, carefully packing some of his experiments.  He was sliding some darts into an envelope as Molly approached.  She saw the case the Marquis had brought propped up against the desk.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Sherlock kept his head bent over his work.  He swallowed the urge to make a snide comment. “It’s a violin” he answered.

“Oh.  You didn’t build a shrink-ray did you?” giggled Molly.

Sherlock looked at her, completely confused.  “What on earth are you talking about?”

She sighed.  She would really need to introduce him to some science-fiction when they returned.  Come to think of it, she needed to introduce him to a lot of popular culture.  “The violin, where did you find a little violin?” she asked.

He straightened up and finally looked at the small violin case.  He frowned slightly and ran a hand through his hair.  “I asked your friend the Marquis to find me a child sized violin.  It’s for Ingress.”  He rocked back on his feet.  Molly smiled at him.  Her eyes were filled with love, and for a second Sherlock felt like he was falling.  Every time she looked at him like that, he felt such a rush of happiness and fear.  He had never expected that being in love was like this, exhilarating and terrifying all at once. Properly caring for others was still so new. 

He had realized that Ingress would be sad to see him leave, and had actually spent time thinking about how to make her feel better.  It had taken promising the Marquis a favor, but he felt that Ingress was worth it.  Perhaps he could keep it up, allow himself to experience these feelings and still be himself, still have his work. There were so many emotions bubbling inside him that he felt panicked. Molly seemed to understand, she held him quietly for a moment, and then backed away.  When he was ready, back in control, he joined her at the fireside.  Neither of them felt sleepy, so they talked for the rest of the night, reminiscing about their adventures in the Underside and plotting for the future.

The next morning, after they dressed, Molly looked all around to be sure they hadn’t forgotten anything.  Sherlock tightly gripped the two violin cases.  Molly knew that he was nervous about saying goodbye to Ingress.  So she said nothing, just rubbed his back and nodded when he asked if she was ready to go. 

_Door and Arch have been waiting for hours.  It feels like forever, sitting and waiting.  Door knows she should set a good example and is reading quietly.  Arch is completely bored.  He has played with his soldiers, looked at all his books and counted all cushions in the entry hall, twice.  He slides off the settee he has been sitting on and decides to see if he can stand on his head.  He nearly manages it when his father finally arrives.  Arch topples to the side as Portico begins to speak.  In a booming voice he announces, “The baby is here!  It’s a girl!”  He smiles as his oldest children race over to his side._

The Marquis was waiting very patiently in the entry hall.  He had found a small puzzle box in a pocket of his coat.  He remembered acquiring the box, some decades ago, but didn’t remember putting the box in his coat.  The contents of the box were also forgotten, and not knowing was driving him crazy.  He had been working on the box for a while and had nearly got it figured out when Sherlock and Molly entered.  The Marquis grinned to himself. They looked so solemn and nervous, yet giddy too.  Almost like they were about to go on their honeymoon.  The Marquis dearly hoped that if they did get married, he would be invited to the wedding.  He loved weddings, all the marvelous clothes, the tears and wine made for easy fun for a man such as himself.  Sherlock was holding the two violin cases very protectively.  He glanced around the room, but Ingress wasn’t there.  The Marquis deftly twisted the last piece of the puzzle box and pried open the lid.  He looked inside and found a bright blue feather.  Hmm.  He didn’t remember putting that in there.  He closed the box and returned it to a pocket.

Molly and Sherlock joined him at the table.  Molly poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Sherlock.  The three of them sat and drank in silence.  Richard entered next, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes.  He too poured a large cup of coffee and added several lumps of sugar.  Door entered last, carrying Ingress.  Ingress’s eyes were red and she twisted in Door’s arms so that she faced away from Sherlock.   Sherlock stood and walked closer to Door. 

“Door, may I speak with Ingress please?  You are welcome to join us” he said.

Door nodded and she whispered to her sister.  Ingress shrugged slightly in response.  Sherlock gestured to the doorway, and the three of them left to go into the dining room.  Molly sighed and helped herself to a scone.  Richard was finishing up his first and debating taking another.  He gave Molly an encouraging smile. 

“So if everything goes well, you should be home before bedtime tonight” he said.

De Carabas snorted.  “Since when has everything ever gone well around here?  Knowing our luck, we’ll have to fight a herd of wildebeests just to get to the Black Friars. And then they’ll probably have a splendid new ordeal for someone to undergo.”

Richard paled a bit at the mention of the Black Friar’s ordeal.  Molly knew that he had had to survive something unpleasant to obtain the key, but she didn’t think she wanted to hear more about it.  She concentrated on thoughts of home, but that was frightening too.  She was a missing person in London Above.  What had happened to her flat and her belongings?  Would she be able to go back to work?  And what was going to happen when Sherlock announced his return from the dead? 

She was starting to get quite anxious when Sherlock returned.  Door and Ingress followed him.  Ingress was clutching the small violin case to her chest.  She had clearly been crying, but was now smiling too.  Before Sherlock could walk away, she tugged his hand.  He bent down next to her and she gave him a kiss on his cheek.  He gave her a small kiss on her cheek before standing and running his hand over her hair.  Richard stood and walked over to Door.  He fished the key out of his pocket and handed it to her. 

The Marquis de Carabas stood, stretching himself slowly to his full height.  He sauntered over to Molly and bowed to her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.  A muscle near Sherlock’s mouth jerked, but he did not respond otherwise. 

“Well, my dear Molly, adieu.  As always it has been simply a delight, do keep in touch, won’t you?”  He winked at her and then crossed to Sherlock.  The two men stared at each other for a moment.  Sherlock was a bit afraid that the man would kiss him again.  Thankfully, the Marquis did no such thing.  He nodded once and shook Sherlock’s hand.  As he walked away, he called out over his shoulder, “Farewell Sherlock, be sure to keep up with your fencing, next time I won’t let you win.”  The Marquis took Ingress by the hand.  He looked at the violin case in the little girl’s hand, and couldn’t help himself.  “Oh and Sherlock, don’t fret, I shall be delighted to teach Ingress to play, as I am also something of a musician myself.”

Molly watched, fascinated as multiple muscles near Sherlock’s eyes started to twitch.  He grimaced as he fought to keep his mouth shut.  If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was having a seizure.  She had a good idea what sort of favor Sherlock had exchanged with the Marquis to repay him for the violin.  De Carabas and Ingress left then, heading toward the little girl’s room.  Molly picked up her bags and slung them over her shoulder.  It was time to go.

It was a long walk to the Black Friar’s.  They were able to shorten it somewhat by taking a Tube train.  One of the empty, dark cars opened at Richard’s command.  Sherlock no longer had any doubts that Richard was the Warrior, granted the freedom of London Below.  They sat in the dark as the train swayed along the tracks.  They exited at Black Friars station and followed Door into the back of a café.  They walked around the counter and into the back kitchen.  The chef was listening to a self-help audio book as he worked the fryer.  Molly paused and tried to make out what he was muttering under his breath.  She couldn’t quite understand him.  She did think he would be better served by trimming his nose hair.  Door opened the pantry, shoved a shelf aside and knelt down next to an ancient looking trap door.  Richard helped her heave the door open.  One by one they dropped down into swirling mists. 

The ground was marshy; it could hardly be called ground actually.  It was more like mud with a thin film of water over top.  Molly was glad she was wearing some of her older clothes.  She felt sure that she would be covered in mud by the time this walk ended.  Sherlock had chosen to wear one of his Baker Street suits.  Molly was dismayed to see it becoming filthy, but Sherlock didn’t seem to mind.   The fog was heavy around them.  They tried to stay close together, just a few feet away and a person could disappear.  Molly’s shoes had filled with mud.  She had no idea which way they were going.  Who was actually leading them?  She prayed Door or Richard had some notion of where to go.  Richard was remembering his first visit to the Black Friars and trying to fight off the building panic in his chest.  He really wasn’t sure which was worse, the ordeal or the final showdown with Islington. Off in the distance, a light could be seen.  It was flickering in the fog.  The light grew larger and brighter as they neared the Abbey of the Black Friars.


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

Things at the Black Friars Abbey were a bit grim.  They were dealing with a crisis of identity.  For centuries, the friars had one job, oversee the ordeal, and protect the key.  When Richard unexpectedly survived the ordeal, at first there was fear and grief.  They had failed.  The friars had gathered in silence to pray for all humanity. Surely the destruction of heaven and earth was at hand.  When hours and days passed without the end of the world, some of the friars had gotten restless.  Finally a brave few ventured out to find out what had happened.  They had found the Great Beast of London dead and the way to Islington’s citadel clear.  But instead of the fallen angel, they found a wounded and sleeping trio.  They were shocked to find that Door had somehow managed to banish Islington even farther away.  They were also relieved to finally have something to do.  People were injured and needed tending to.  So they carried Door, Richard and the Marquis back to the Abbey.  Once the three were healed, more or less, the Abbot had listened to their tale.  He had been stunned that not only had they not brought about the end of heaven and earth, but had all survived.  He gave thanks and praise unto the wondrous ways of the Lord.

After helping send the Upworlder back where he belonged, the friars had allowed themselves a bit of a victory celebration.  A monastic and subdued celebration, to be sure, but a celebration none the less.  The relief they all felt was palpable.  Much ale was drunk and joyous hymns sung.  But even the delight they felt couldn’t keep forever.  Slowly, a sense of loss descended on the Abbey.  They no longer had a purpose.  A few of the younger friars left in the ensuing weeks, their faith irreparably shaken.  The older friars knew that this was a test to be borne like all the others.  They searched for new tasks, like removing the wall of pictures of those who had tried and failed the ordeal.  They wrote down accounts of the ordeal and descriptions of the key itself.  They tried to learn how to make a better cup of tea.   But eventually, even the most stalwart of the friars had to admit, they no longer had a reason to exist.  There had been whispered discussions among some of the friars, that perhaps the abbey should be abandoned, having fulfilled its mission.  Other felt they should remain and serve travelers.  The more astute friars pointed out that few if any travelers came past their citadel.  All in all, there had been quite a bit of polite bickering and the Abbot was getting sick of it.

The brothers were all shocked to hear the tolling of the bell announcing visitors.  No one came anymore, now that the key was gone.  The friars who had advocated for ministering to travelers felt a little smug.  See, travelers would come, eventually.  As Sherlock, Molly, Door and Richard approached the bridge, Richard was sweating heavily.  He was getting worried that they would face a fight on the bridge, like last time.  He really didn’t want to have to draw his knife against men of the cloth.  Thankfully, there was no guard posted, just a very bored young monk.  He had been waiting for months for the chance to ring the bell and was reveling at having done it.  Most of his friends had fled weeks ago and he was wondering if he had made the right choice in staying behind.  The thought of getting to ring the bell was all that had been keeping him going.  It had been just as wonderful to pull the bell rope as he had imagined it to be.  Door hailed the young man, and he scrambled to open the huge wooden door.  Sherlock readjusted his grip in his violin case.  He studied the massive stone walls of the abbey.  He was past wondering how such structures had escaped the notice of London Above.  Door asked to speak to the Abbot, and another monk bowed and gestured for them to follow.

The Abbot was weary; he had led the Black Friars for many years.  He had experienced many people come to try and then fail the ordeal.  He had survived the unthinkable, someone passing the ordeal.  And yet, he was still here.  He knew that he should not question the mysteries of the Lord, but sometimes it was hard not to.  He wondered why he still lived, what purpose he still had.  As he lay in his cell, deep in prayer, he had been surprised to hear the tolling of the bell.  There wasn’t much left for visitors at the Abbey now.  All that the Black Friars had ever done was protect the key.  They had no library to speak of and nothing else really of interest.  The Abbot was glad for the distraction at least.  Visitors would give him something different to do.  He slowly stood, bones cracking and creaking as he straightened out.  He heard Brother Fuliginous open the door, ready to guide him to meet the visitors.

Molly lifted one foot and then the other, trying to drain some of the foul marsh water from her shoes.  She glanced surreptitiously at her companions.  The silence was awful.  She felt the overwhelming urge to make some sort of inane comment or silly small talk.  Everyone else looked so serious, so she kept her mouth shut.  Besides, Sherlock would probably just remind her that conversation wasn’t really her area.  From across the bleak courtyard, a door opened.  A tall man led a tiny old man through the door.  The old man was clearly blind.  His nose twitched as he crossed the yard.  As he approached, he called out, “The Warrior has returned?  What do you want now?”

Richard jumped, the sight of the elderly Abbot was more frightening than he would have liked to admit.  Weird flashbacks of the ordeal swam through his mind.  Damn it.  He had just come along on this trip as protection, this wasn’t his quest!  He started to stammer a bit, but Door jumped in.

“Father Abbot, this is Door, of the House of the Arch” she explained.

The Abbot interrupted her, “You’re here too?  What is this?  Some sort of reunion?” he asked querulously. 

“No Father, we have come for your help.  Richard returned to London Below, and in doing so, the key was returned to his possession” she explained.  All the gathered friars gasped at the news.  Whispers raced through the crowd.  Door waited for a moment, till everyone quieted back down a little.

“So, um, we have these other friends, Sherlock and Molly and they want to return to London Above, so we thought that they could use the key” she trailed off as she watched the shock keep reverberating through the Black Friars. 

The Abbot coughed, and suddenly the whole courtyard fell silent again.  He raised his hand.  “Once again, I can’t believe how incredibly stupid all of you are.” He sighed, slightly ashamed at his outburst of temper.  “Come along then, all of you.”  He waved at the group and began shuffling back towards the tower.  Door shrugged, and began to follow him.  Molly and Sherlock followed close after with Richard bringing up the rear. 

The Abbot and Door huddled together and began to speak.  Door waved Sherlock over to her side and then whispered with him.  Molly reached out and grabbed Richard’s hand when Sherlock left her side.  Richard grinned at her and squeezed her hand. He was glad to have something to do.  He could comfort Molly.  He was starting to relax.  They had been at the Abbey for a while with no mention of any new ordeal.  Door walked back then and gave them both a reassuring smile. 

“Okay, well, I’ve got to go on ahead a bit.  Just wait with Sherlock, Molly, and the Abbot will tell you when to go.  Richard, I’ll be back in a bit, wait here for me, okay?”  She hugged them both, and then ran off, disappearing into a small doorway at the bottom of the tower.

Sherlock came closer and shook Richard’s hand.  “Thank you, Richard, for everything.”  The two men stood awkwardly for a moment.  Neither was sure what else they should say.  Richard was secretly thrilled that he had met a celebrity.  Molly gave Richard a hug and wished him well.  She had a hunch that Richard and Door would be starting their own romantic relationship soon.  Molly huddled next to Sherlock while they waited.  She kept looking over at the Abbot.  He seemed to have fallen asleep.  She could hear snores.   The minutes dragged on.  How long were they supposed to wait?  Molly was debating sitting down for a while.  Her legs hurt.  Then a rattling, crashing sound rang through the tower, like something was falling down the stairs.  The noise got louder till there was a sudden final bang, and the doorway flew open, a cloud of dust all that was there.  The Abbot jumped back, thrust into wakefulness.  He wheezed and snuffled for a second, while he tried to remember where he was.  After a moment, he remembered that the Lady Door had returned, and brought the wretched key with her. 

“Hmppfh, well, she’s bound to be ready then, so off you go, best luck, just keep walking, straight ahead now, don’t stop till you get to Door, she’ll see you through.”  He coughed and stuck out a trembling finger, pointing toward the open door.  Sherlock squeezed Molly’s hand, and then strode through.

As they entered the dank tower, Molly looked up.  It was hard to see just how far the steps went; they curved upwards in a tight spiral.  She shivered in the cool air.  Before taking the first step, Sherlock bent to kiss her quickly.  “Don’t be scared Molly,” he murmured.  She kissed him back and began to walk up the stairs.  For a long time they climbed up and up in the darkness.  Molly’s legs ached and she was certain they had climbed much higher than the top of the tower.  At that moment, she decided she had had enough of magic for the rest of her life.  The notion of returning to a London where things were exactly as they seemed was very appealing.  By the time Sherlock realized that they had climbed farther than should have been physically possible, he had lost track of how many stairs they had already climbed.  He was feeling rather annoyed at his thoughtlessness when he nearly ran headlong into a wooden door.  They had reached the top of the tower.

Sherlock pushed the door open and he and Molly walked onto a train platform.  It was garishly lit.  The walls were papered in advertisements for boot black, cod liver oil and gas lamps.  Sherlock sighed in irritation, his arms hurt from carrying his violin case.  They walked the length of the train platform following the arrows to the exit.  “More stairs” moaned Molly.  This set of stairs was mercifully shorter.  The stairs ended in the middle of a park.  The Tube station entrance was surrounded by flower beds.  Clouds of pollen flew up as Sherlock and Molly trudged through the flowers.  Molly sneezed a few times.  Ahead of them, a graceful wrought iron arch marked the entrance to the park.  Door was standing underneath the arch, waiting for them.  She grinned at them.  Molly managed a weak smile, she was exhausted.  She could tell Sherlock was wearing down too.

“Well, um, this is it” announced Door.  She looked sad for a moment, but forced another smile.  “I’m going to miss you both, take good care of each other, okay?”  A tear rolled down her face.  “And Sherlock, thank you for finding my sister, I never would have done it without you.”  Door reached out awkwardly, she wanted to hug the man, but wasn’t sure how he would react.  Everyone was surprised that Sherlock set down his instrument case and gave her a quick hug. 

“Thank you Door, for all your hospitality” said Sherlock solemnly.

Molly nodded and hugged Door.  Both women were getting a little teary.  It had been a long time since Molly had had a good friend; she knew she would miss Door.  “Thank you Door, for everything” whispered Molly.  She wiped the tears from her eyes and grabbed Sherlock’s hand. 

“Alright, well, as soon as I turn the key, just start walking, don’t stop and don’t look back.   This is good luck and good bye then.”  Door took the tiny silver key and reached out.  She closed her eyes and twisted her wrist.  A rush of wind sprang up, propelling Sherlock and Molly through a gateway of light.  They walked briskly forward, eyes closed against the blinding light.  There was a quick burst of heat, and then the light and wind were gone. 

Molly opened her eyes one at a time.  She and Sherlock were standing on a sidewalk next to a high brick wall.  Sherlock suddenly began to walk faster, pulling Molly a little bit.  She looked around, but the street was not familiar to her at all.  For a moment, she wasn’t sure that they were in London.  It looked like a very fancy part of the city, not someplace she had ever been before.  There seemed to be high brick walls on both sides of the street.  She could see a massive iron gate in the wall.  Sherlock was racing now, dragging her toward a discreet metal box next to the gate.  He pushed the buzzer, tapping his foot impatiently while he waited for an answer. 

Static crackled for a second, and then a bored voice said, “Can I help you?”

Sherlock bent closer to the box and shouted, “Tell Mycroft that Captain Bloody Awful is here.”

Silence.  The static crackled back finally, “Is this some sort of childish joke?  I’ll call the police you know.”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.  “Just tell Mycroft that Captain Bloody Awful is here and wants to come in, if you don’t, I assure you that you will be looking for a new job tomorrow” he shouted into the grill of the intercom.

They waited for another ten minutes. Sherlock fidgeted the entire time, tapping his fingers and rocking on his feet.  He kept his gaze firmly on the house.  Molly hoped that someday Sherlock would explain what “Captain Bloody Awful” was all about.  It had to be a good story.  While they waited, Molly looked around the street.  It was very still, a few silent black cars rolled down the street, but there were no pedestrians.  She could hear more city noise in the background, but this particular street was practically abandoned.  She studied the large house that was on the other side of the gate.  It was a beautiful brick structure, surrounded by exquisitely landscaped lawns.  In warmer weather, there were probably lovely flowers in the carefully tended beds.  The front door of the house flew open with a bang.  Mycroft Holmes stood at his front door, peering out.  He began walking down the steps, hurrying down the lengthy drive. Sherlock huffed impatiently. 

“Hmm, I’m impressed he’s making the effort” muttered Sherlock.  Mycroft was followed by an impeccably dressed woman who managed to walk briskly in heels and keep typing on a sleek black phone.  Just behind her was a tall man in a black suit and bringing up the rear, a nervous looking young man who was blathering on despite the fact that no one was paying him any attention.  Mycroft actually ran the last few steps, drawing a snort from Sherlock.

“If I knew my resurrection was all it would take for you to begin exercising, I would have done it sooner” drawled Sherlock.  The brothers faced each other, the gate between them.  Mycroft studied his younger brother for a moment and then shook his head. 

“Judging by the state of your clothes, I can only imagine where you have been.  Mummy’s going to be thrilled that she took my advice and left the dates off your gravestone,” intoned Mycroft.  He turned to Molly then.  “And Dr. Hooper, a pleasure as always.  I suspected you might have something to do with this.”  He waved impatiently at the man in the black suit.  From somewhere deep in the brick wall, gears began turning and the gate slowly opened. 

Sherlock gripped his violin case tighter and squeezed Molly’s hand.  Together they stepped through the gate.  Mycroft and Sherlock stared at each other for another moment. Mycroft reached out a shaky hand first and then Sherlock put his violin case down.   They exchanged the briefest, most awkward hug Molly had ever seen.  She suspected they were both out of practice.  Mycroft snapped his fingers and the nervously stammering fellow stepped forward.  He quickly picked up Sherlock and Molly’s bags, still apologizing and jabbering on.  Sherlock refused to relinquish his violin.  Mycroft briskly turned and headed back to the house followed by his retinue.

“Molly, this will almost certainly be extremely tedious.  I know I promised to behave myself, but I fear it will be impossible in the presence of my brother” muttered Sherlock. 

Molly reached out to squeeze his hand as they walked toward the front door.  “It can’t be that bad, the Marquis isn’t around” she said.  Sherlock brightened considerably at this.  At least he had left one of the world’s greatest irritants behind.  He laughed quietly and leaned over to kiss Molly’s cheek.  They walked down the drive, ascended the steps and walked through the door together.


	31. Epilogue

Molly had been living at 221 B Baker Street since she and Sherlock had returned.  She had been quite pleasantly surprised that Sherlock wanted her to live with him. There had been some rough patches, but overall they were very happy living together.  It did make some things much easier. There had been quite a bit of excitement when Sherlock publicly announced that he was alive.  Sherlock refused to comment about how he had done it and where he had been.  The only details he would give were related to how Jim Moriarty had fooled them all. 

The press was quick to realize Molly was an important part of that story.  There was also a degree of lurid fascination with the fact that Sherlock and Molly had some sort of romantic relationship.  Molly was not prepared to be thrust into such notoriety, but Mycroft helped keep the worst of the press at bay.  Next week was the one year anniversary of Sherlock’s “death” and the press was getting eager for a new angle on the story.  Molly had been lying low, avoiding the reporters who were determined to get her side of the story.

Sherlock, of course, ignored the press and all the commotion.  He was back where he belonged, working with John and solving cases.  He only noticed the pestering reporters when they upset Molly or Mrs. Hudson.  He reacted very forcefully at these times and had sent more than one reporter away in tears, all their secrets exposed.  Molly had been enjoying a quiet day off by sleeping in and being deliciously lazy.  Sherlock had left early in the morning, whispering in her ear that he was with John and Lestrade and would text later.  Molly had taken a long relaxing bath and was now hungry.  She wrapped herself up in a thick robe and shuffled toward the kitchen.  She grabbed an apple and put the kettle on.  As she walked toward the living room, she shrieked in surprise.  Lounging across Sherlock’s armchair was the Marquis de Carabas.  He was wearing his same black coat, a large lacy cravat and usual air of superiority.  He grinned at Molly, pulling himself into a sitting position.

Molly tried to say something, but the words got stuck, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.  So the Marquis jumped in.  “And a good morning to you too, Molly, though it’s nearly afternoon by now.  I hope you filled the kettle all the way, I could use some refreshment” he said.

Molly finally managed to find her voice.  “What are you doing here?  I thought we weren’t going to be able to see you any more, now that we’re not part of London Below anymore …” she trailed off.  She was getting worried that she would be dragged back to the Underside.  Panic was rising in her chest.

“Oh Molly, you should know by now that I do as I please. Rules have never interested me.  Besides, given our history, I suspect you will always be able to see me.”  He grinned once more, his teeth bright against the darkness of his skin.  The kettle started to whistle and he looked pointedly toward the kitchen.  Molly stumbled back to the kitchen and located some clean mugs.  She fixed some tea, and then looked for some biscuits.  She found a new box on the shelf labeled “Food Only!  Or Else!”

She brought out the tea and biscuits and watched as the Marquis daintily sipped his tea.  Her mind was racing and her hand shook slightly as she took a sip of tea.  She decided to try again.  “So, really, why are you here?” she asked.

The Marquis sniffed, she still had terrible manners.  “Can’t I come and visit an old friend without all this suspicion?  I just wanted to check up on one of my oldest and dearest friends.  Now, how have things been?  And how is darling Sherlock?  Still living together I see, quite modern of you both.”  He paused to sip some more tea and nibble on a biscuit.  Molly stared at him, wondering if he honestly expected her to answer him. 

Since Molly kept gawping at him like a fish, the Marquis continued.  “Fine.  Well, Door and Richard have been asking after you, they’ve decided to follow your splendid example and begin kissing and all sorts of other nonsense.”  He waved his hand, dismissing such foolishness with an eye roll.   “They’re planning on getting married soon, I’ve been told to offer you both an invite, but suspect your Sherlock will be less than eager to return to the Underside.  I’ve brought you both a little present as well.”

He stood then, revealing two small wrapped boxes, one in each hand.  He handed the larger one to Molly.  She hesitated, not sure that she wanted any sort of gift that the Marquis would bring.  He pouted and tried to look like a wounded puppy.  He wasn’t nearly as good at it as Sherlock.  Molly sighed and united the ribbon.  She lifted the lid and gasped when she saw what was inside.  It was the silver box that the Marquis had used to protect the egg she had made for him.  She started to drop the box, but the Marquis deftly caught it. 

“Molly!  You must be more careful with such nice things,” he chided.

“What the hell!  I don’t want that!  Did you think I would make another egg for you?” she shrieked.  She felt dirty having just touched it and began to wring her hands. 

“Oh Molly, such dramatics are neither needed nor warranted.  I give you the box because I no longer am interested in such things.  Besides, there’s something inside the box” he complained.

Molly cautiously opened the lid of the silver box.  She was a little worried that she might find a snake inside or something worse, like a still beating heart.  Instead she found a bright blue feather.  She lifted the feather and turned it over in her hand.  It didn’t look dangerous, but then again, neither did the Marquis.  She looked at the Marquis with a questioning glance. 

“It’s just something you might need, should you ever decide to come and visit your old chums in the Underside” said the Marquis loftily. 

Molly placed the feather back inside the box and closed the lid.  She set it on the mantel, near Sherlock’s skull.  “Thank you, I guess,” she said.  The Marquis sighed, wounded at her reaction.  Honestly, it was a wonder he bothered to be so generous to such ingrates.  Molly sat back down and drank some tea, watching the Marquis as he continued to nibble his way through most of a box of biscuits.  They sat in silence for some time.  It was now a little after noon.  A few moments later, she heard running footsteps on the stairs.  Sherlock burst through the door in his own typical dramatic fashion. 

“Molly!  You can’t imagine what a waste of time this entire morning has been.  If anyone had bothered to properly look at the man’s socks, they would have seen that the man killed himself after making an amateurish attempt to disguise it as murder…”  He continued talking as he walked through the flat.  Molly stared at him, wondering when he was going to notice that she was not alone.  Sherlock had removed his coat and walked back to the bedroom, talking all the while about his utter disappointment in Lestrade’s latest case. 

Sherlock came back through the kitchen, now wearing a worn pair of blue pajama pants and tee-shirt.  He was still complaining about the case, wildly gesticulating as he moaned about the idiocy of the world in general.  The Marquis was sniggering softly to himself, clearly amused at the situation. Sherlock was now pacing back and forth in the living room, oblivious to the presence of the other man. Molly decided she needed to intervene.  She stood up, and grabbed one of Sherlock’s hands mid-wave.

“Sherlock, um, did you notice anything different?” she asked.  She knew it was a stupid start, but how else was she supposed to tactfully point out the large man sprawled across the other armchair?  Sherlock looked at her for a second, worried that this was some sort of womanly test that he could never pass.  Nothing about her was different; he would have seen it immediately.  He squinted at her in confusion, thinking it better to stay silent.  Molly sighed.  “We have a guest” she said, pointing at the other armchair.  Now that she had pointed it out, the Marquis de Carabas was painfully obvious.  Sherlock jumped back slightly, horrified that he had been unable to see his former nemesis.

The Marquis stood and gave Sherlock an exaggerated bow and wicked grin.  “Sherlock, how very marvelous to see you again.”  He winked and then sat back down.  “I was just telling our dear Molly that everyone in London Below is doing well, Richard and Door are planning on getting married, blah blah blah.”  He waved his hands and rolled his eyes in disgust at such mundane matters.  His face softened as he moved on to a new topic.  “Ingress is also doing well; she has sent you a gift.”  He presented the gift box to Sherlock and waited.  Sherlock took it suspiciously. 

Molly watched as he lifted the lid.  She hoped that the Marquis wasn’t just playing a cruel joke.  Sherlock removed a small object from the box.  It was carefully wrapped in thin paper.  He unwrapped the paper and looked at the little girl’s gift.  It was a beautifully painted miniature portrait of Ingress, wearing a white dress with blue ribbons and solemnly holding her violin.  Sherlock breathed deeply as he looked at the lovely painting.  It was done in the style of miniature portraits painted in the 18th century.  The painting appeared to be painted on a sheet of ivory, but was in fact done on a cleverly manipulated piece of plastic.  A gilded frame surrounded the girl’s image.

“Door had portraits commissioned, and Ingress wanted to send one to you.  I offered to paint the portraits, but due to my busy schedule, Door selected another artist.”  The Marquis shrugged at the foolishness of such a choice.  Sherlock didn’t notice.  He was studying the portrait he held in his hands.  Molly felt tears well up.  It was a beautiful picture and it clearly meant a lot to Sherlock.  He carefully placed the portrait next to his skull.  He fidgeted a moment, straightening his shirt.  He looked up and stretched out his hand to the Marquis.  They shook hands.

“Thank you for bringing Ingress’s gift to me.  Please tell her that I …” Sherlock paused, searching for words.  “Tell her that I like it very much and hope she is enjoying the violin” he finished.  He was awash in emotions, and struggling to maintain control.  Molly could feel his distress, and waited quietly.  He would let her know when he was ready. 

The Marquis smiled and nodded.  “Yes, she’s getting quite good at it, she may even be as good as I someday.” Sherlock grimaced, but kept silent.

De Carabas stood, brushing imaginary lint from his black coat.  “Yes, well, charming as your home may be, I am a very busy man, you know, so, I bid you both adieu.”  He bowed again and spun about suddenly, disappearing before their eyes.

Molly sat back down, watching Sherlock.  He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair.  He spun around, a look of dawning horror on his face.  “Do you think he spoke to Mrs. Hudson?” he whispered.

“No, I suspect he finds his own way to get into places where he doesn’t belong” sighed Molly.  Sherlock came back to her side and she reached out for his hand.  He pulled her up close to him, pressing her to his side.  She breathed in his warm scent.  He rested his chin on the top of her head before pressing a kiss to her forehead.  He stiffened as another horrible thought occurred to him.

“Do you think he will return?” he asked.  Sherlock was alarmed at the thought of his adversary entering his home and possibly witnessing him and Molly engaged in intimate activities.  He could clearly picture such an awful scene.  His eyes unfocused as ideas swam in his mind. 

“I don’t know, I don’t think so, he did claim to be very busy.”  Molly studied Sherlock’s face.  She could tell he was spinning more and more unpleasant scenarios in his mind.  She decided to stop him from his worries.  She ran a finger under the waistband of his pajamas.  Then she slid a few more fingers in and reached lower.  Sherlock looked pleased as he realized Molly’s intentions.  He grinned and kissed her passionately, then picked her up.  Molly squealed in delight and tried to grab his lovely bum as he slung her over his shoulder.  Sherlock practically dashed back to the bedroom and tossed Molly on their bed.  She laughed and reached out to pull him onto the bed with her.  They lay tangled together for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes.  Sherlock stroked Molly’s cheek and smiled.  They resumed kissing, both of them thoroughly enjoying every moment.

THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end, it was a lot of fun to write and I'm very glad that so many people have enjoyed this silly story of mine. Thank you to everyone who commented, I appreciated all the encouragement and advice. Please feel free to share any final thoughts/constructive criticism. I do have some short related stories that I wrote as I worked on this beast. I'll probably post them next week or so. I have started a sequel of sorts, but haven't gotten very far, so no promises there.


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